Deepest Blues

by Heidi Hutchinson

“Clarke,” Shane tried again.

  Her head snapped up and she looked at Mike instead of Shane. Mike gave her a playful smile and saw a faint blush touch her cheeks. He liked that.

  “Clarke?” Shane said her name again more slowly and Clarke's eyes finally made their way to his. “You didn't hear me at all, did you?”

  “Sorry, boss,” Clarke cleared her throat as Harrison and Mike sniggered quietly.

  “You okay, Clarke?” Greta asked.

  “Of course.” She tried to laugh it off. “I guess I wasn't paying attention.”

  “No kidding,” Shane concurred. “Shipment came early.” He held up his phone. “I was asking if you wanted to go down to the shop with me and help put it away.”

  Clarke pushed back from the table, ready to leave, per her usual. “Sure.”

  “No. You just got home.” Greta spoke up, directing her glare at Shane across the table from her. Mike didn't understand the venom behind Greta's demand, but he was all for backing her up. He wasn't ready for Clarke to leave yet, either.

  “You work all the time. Why can't someone else do it?”

  “It's all the new stuff, Greta,” Clarke responded, the fatigue in her voice barely masked. “No one else will do it right. I'll just end up re-doing it anyway.”

  “Why don't we all go?” Mike spoke up, the solution obvious. She might not like the idea of them all tagging along, but he was suddenly desperate to spend more than a fifteen-minute meal with her. Seeing her at work was perfect.

  “Yeah, let's all go.” Greta cocked her head at Shane again, confusing the heck out of Mike. Harrison shoveled his food in faster, either oblivious to his sister's ire or completely used to it.

  “It's fine with me.” Shane looked to Clarke. “It's your call.”

  “Why not?” Clarke shrugged. “Many hands make for... something.” She stood up and began clearing the table.

  ***

  Harrison and Mike took over on washing the dishes, which had become their nightly ritual, and Clarke ran upstairs. She heard Greta follow her.

  “This should be fun,” Greta said brightly as she grabbed her flip-flops out of her room and slid her feet into them in the hallway.

  “I guess.” Clarke shrugged and grabbed her Chucks from behind the door. She sat down in the hallway to tie them and raised an eyebrow at Greta, taking the opportunity to ask about what she had witnessed when she'd first walked in the door. “What was that with you and Shane when I came home?”

  They had been locked in a showdown of some kind. Shane had had his hands on Greta's face, holding her close to him. Clarke had paused when she'd seen them, wondering if he was going to kiss her friend and trying to decide if she should back out of the room quietly. But they hadn't moved, they just stared at each other. That's when Clarke had detected the emotion and vulnerability swirling through the room.

  Greta rolled her eyes. “Just a weird moment. It's all part of the experience, Clarke.”

  She was deflecting, as she usually did.

  “You sure you know what you're doing?” Clarke asked quietly. “I know I said that I didn't want you doing this with my boss but in all honesty... Shane doesn't have the best reputation when it comes to women, and I don't want to see you get hurt.”

  Greta's lips curved into a large smile. “I'll be fine. Nothing like that will happen with Shane. Believe me.” Her eyes widened at the end trying to convey what a ridiculous idea that was.

  “Promise me that if things should change in that department, you'll come talk to me?” Clarke pressed, still not convinced.

  “Of course! Besides, I may kill him for overworking you before we get much further,” Greta warned, half-serious.

  Clarke chuckled. “You know I enjoy my job. You don't have to be so protective.”

  “Hello, Pot? This is Kettle.” Greta held her hand up to the side of her head like she was answering a phone.

  “Touché.” Clarke smiled and stood up. They turned to descend the stairs together. “I'm glad you're coming along tonight. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever.”

  “Which is why I insist on family dinners every night.” Greta hooked an arm through Clarke's. “Although, if you get a minute to hang out with Mike one-on-one, please take it.”

  Clarke swiveled her head quickly to Greta, whose face was relaxed and way too innocent as she looked forward while they came to the bend in the stairs before entering the foyer. “Why do you say that?”

  Before Greta could answer, if she was planning on answering at all, Bo, Brady and Steve came through the front door.

  “Where you guys headed?” Steve lifted his chin.

  “To the shop. Have to put some stuff away,” Clarke said as Greta slipped her arm free and then ducked between the guys and made a beeline for the kitchen. Why did Clarke get the feeling that she was up to something? Clarke tried to catch Mike or Shane's eye over the banister, but their backs were to her.

  “Do you need company?” Bo asked hopefully. Clarke felt a little blocked in. All three guys were standing in a tight semicircle at the bottom of the steps, looking at her expectantly. This is what happens when you let beach bums move in, they look at you like you're their mama.

  “No, she's good,” Mike interrupted, his hand extending through the group of guys towards Clarke. She hesitated momentarily before taking it and allowing him to pull her to the door. “Greta says we can all fit in the Land Rover, but we have to move the cars around in the drive. You wanna help me?”

  “Yes.” Clarke nodded her head and opened the front door quickly.

  “Is Shane here?” She heard Steve ask behind her. “He is! What's Mister Wonderful doing here?”

  That would be a difficult explanation, and suddenly Clarke was thankful she wasn't the one who was going to have to give it. Let Greta explain to Shane's friends and her brother why, exactly, he was there. Maybe it would get awkward enough and they would both see what a bad idea it was and call the whole thing off.

  Mike closed the door behind him and let go of her hand. She had forgotten that he was holding it until it's abrupt release, leaving her hand feeling empty and cold. She made haste getting to the Land Rover and maneuvered it out of the drive as Mike moved the rented Volvo off to the side.

  ***

  “No, those all go over to Men's.” Clarke shook her head at Harrison, who had brought her the wrong box of beanies. He shrugged amicably and trudged off in the other direction.

  Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a second. The shipment was large, she had expected that. What she hadn't expected was the entire thing coming at once. She had expected it to be spaced out over a couple of weeks. But no, when they got to the shop, the driver had unloaded hundreds of boxes of merchandise and equipment. She was thankful she had brought reinforcements, otherwise she'd be here until dawn.

  “You look tired.” Mike set a box down next to her, looking at her with genuine concern.

  “No, not me. I was just getting ready to run a quick 5k before sorting those women's thermals,” she replied dryly.

  She startled slightly when Mike barked out a laugh. She gave him a sideways smile. “Sorry, I tend to get pretty sarcastic when...” she searched for an excuse but couldn't find a decent one, “I'm breathing.

  Mike laughed again, which surprised her. “You're funny,” he said appreciatively as he left to get another box.

  They'd been working for a few hours now, sorting, opening and putting away the new product line. Harrison and Mike were unloading the last of the remaining boxes while Greta put away the men's wearables, Shane took care of the technical equipment, and Clarke tried to make sense of the women's wearables. As far as she could tell, it was going very well. Apart from the small tiff that Greta and Shane had gotten into about her schedule. Clarke shook her head. How were those two people expecting to help one another when they were so touchy?

  “This is it.” Mike set down another box and stood up, resting his hands on his hips. “You want me to hel
p finish this up? Harrison is putting away underwear for Greta.”

  Clarke smirked. “Yeah, that would great.” She tossed him the box cutter and watched him for a second before returning to her task. She only had a few more thermals to mark and put away, then what was left in his box and they could go home. It had gone a lot faster than she had expected.

  The distraction of work—her work—eliminated her desire to avoid Mike and everything about him. Work did that to her, put her in a more relaxed state of mind. She understood it, she could control it, she performed well at it. Not really even thinking about it, she conversed steadily with him as he helped get things in order. They talked about her job, his recent recording project, the band, and Harrison and Greta being too adorable for their own good.

  Mike's sense of humor was refreshing. It was quiet, dry, clever. Exactly like her.

  “Is it weird that I want a pair of these for myself?” Mike asked, holding up a pair of pink checkerboard thermal pants.

  Clarke smiled. “No, they go nicely with your skin tone. I can probably get you a discount.”

  “Discount? You mean, I don't get anything for all my hard work tonight?” He looked wounded and she bit her bottom lip to keep her face straight.

  “You have to ask Shane, it's his dollar.” She arched an eyebrow and he grinned in return, causing her to smile wider.

  After they had walked the empty boxes back to the dumpster area, they checked on the progress of the others.

  “We've still got a little bit of work. Harrison built a fort out of the crates of Sex Wax and now there might be a little bit of a mess.” Greta rolled her eyes and raised her hands placatingly at Clarke. “Don't give me the murder eyes. Shane is handling it, but you should probably stay away for a few minutes.”

  Mike laughed under his breath and Clarke felt that go through her like a soothing breeze. He tugged her hand lightly and turned to the back door. “C'mon, let's go for a walk.”

  She didn't even think about it, she automatically followed him. It seemed like the appropriate response when a tall, good-looking man who laughed at your dumb jokes and treated you like you'd been friends for years asked you to do something.

  The beach at night was one of Clarke's favorite places to be, so she let him lead her out the door, past the parking lot, and down to the normally crowded beach. But since it was so late, there was virtually no one else out there.

  She sank down into the sand and leaned back on her hands before she realized what she was doing. She had been so determined not to spend any time with Mike, now they had basically spent the past four hours together. It had happened so seamlessly, she hadn't noticed until this moment.

  “I had a ton of fun working with you tonight,” Mike said quietly from next to her. “You're hilarious.” He chuckled, and she wished she knew what he was remembering that was making him laugh.

  “Most people think I'm kind of a bitch,” she replied flatly.

  “Most people are idiots, Clarke,” he countered lightly.

  “But idiots rule the world,” she pressed, wishing she'd just kept her mouth shut.

  “Ignore the world, just for a few minutes.”

  Clarke snorted under her breath, thinking that was an impossible request.

  “I'd like to hang out with you some more before I have to leave,” Mike said in the direction of the water. He paused then turned to face her. “Is that something that can happen?”

  Clarke blinked against the sudden burning in the back of her throat. “I think that might...” She didn't finish her sentence, just left it hanging there in the moonlight. Because she wanted to see more of Mike. And the right and proper thing to do was say no. But she wasn't even a decent enough person to say it out loud. Avoidance was so much easier.

  “You don't trust me, do you?” Mike asked quietly.

  Clarke's chest felt heavy with the fact that her prejudice towards him was so obvious. She had tried to be polite and cordial, but she'd lost that talent a while ago. Honesty still worked, right?

  “No, I don't.” She didn't look at him, even though she could feel his gaze burning into her face.

  “Because of the drugs?” Mike clarified.

  “Yes.” She swallowed hard. If she had to boil it all down to one thing, then that was the simplest answer.

  Mike took his shoes off and set them aside. His bare feet dug into the sand and he stretched out his long legs, leaning back on his arms. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  He didn't address her confession. Didn't try to convince her she was wrong or misinformed. He didn't defend himself or argue about the circumstances surrounding her distrust. He offered no explanation, no excuse, no disappointment. He let her have her feelings. It was a level of respect she rarely received from others; even her close friends would try to argue with her beliefs.

  There was so much truth in his silence.

  Because of that, whether it was his intention or not, she let go of her doubt in him just a little bit. Letting it slip quietly away with the soothing sounds of the waves crashing in the distance. The pressure on her chest eased as she took in a breath that felt cleaner than the one before it.

  The three parts of Clarke that warred with one another when Mike was around suddenly stopped their fight and settled down. He was no longer a celebrity crush to her. He wasn't just a hot guy that made her feel self-conscious. And he wasn't the junky she secretly despised.

  He was a person. With a past. A past that had led him to an understanding of what it was to be misunderstood. He gave her that. And because he gave her that, she could give him the same in return.

  “I've always liked the ocean.” His voice was low, soothing, matching the pace of the waves up ahead. “It has a rhythm. I like things with rhythm. They make sense to me.”

  Clarke didn't respond. She was still allowing the new quiet inside her take hold. His words added anchors, and pulled her to a soft stop without holding her down.

  She wanted to say that she loved the ocean for the same reason. That in the water, with the ebb and flow, she didn't have to worry about staying in control or dealing with day-to-day stresses. In the water, she wasn't in command, she was simply a part of something bigger. Riding it and folding with it and letting it push her to a better understanding of herself. It was the rhythm. It made sense to her too.

  But those words seemed to go too deep, too fast. She was coming to a rest for the first time in years. It was new, unexpected. And it was scary. So she confessed something she hoped he'd read into.

  “I haven't been able to go surfing in weeks.”

  Mike didn't say anything and she appreciated that. It felt good to be listened to without someone having an input.

  Safe.

  So she kept going. “I miss it.”

  “I've never been surfing,” he admitted, letting the waves and breaths between them speak for several minutes. He looked towards her again. “If I pay you for lessons, will you teach me?”

  Clarke felt her mouth twitch up on the side. “Why would you wanna do that? You could probably afford to hire someone way better than me.”

  “Yeah, but their sense of humor would totally suck.” He leaned a shoulder against her for a second and she couldn't stop the smile that spread over her face.

  “You make it really hard to dislike you,” she confessed with a sigh.

  “Good. I like to be liked.”

  Chapter 4

  Disenchanted Lullaby

  Wednesday night was girls' night. It had been this way for several months after Tatewin had taken her new paralegal job and was at school most of the time. Greta insisted they have one night a week where just the ladies got together for a few drinks at this little bar near the pier. It was a guaranteed good time and coming in the middle of the week made it the perfect way for the girls to reconnect amidst their busy lives.

  Clarke reapplied some lip gloss in the bathroom mirror before returning to the table that Greta was saving.

  “Tate! How is
our lovely lawyer in training? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!” Clarke hopped up on a stool.

  “Tell me about it. Between school and work, I hardly have time to get home for a shower. It's nice that Eddie lives so close to the campus.” Tatewin opened up her purse. “To make up for it, drinks are on me tonight.”

  Clarke and Greta whooped as the server came over and took their order. Greta must've been feeling especially feisty and went for her 'special occasion' beverage: tequila. Tatewin ordered her usual Cosmo and Clarke surprised them all by ordering herself Jack and Coke.

  Tate raised an eyebrow at her. “What has gotten into you? Don't you work tomorrow?”

  Clarke gave a sly smile. “I just really want to let my hair down. If I have to work with a hangover tomorrow, so be it. I'm tired of feeling like my hands are tied.”

  “Shane told me he was going to hire some more help. So your workload should decrease soon,” Greta said sympathetically.

  “It's weird enough that you've been hanging out with my boss regularly. Could you maybe leave me out of it?” Clarke scrunched up her nose and Greta laughed.

  “Wait a minute,” Tatewin interrupted. “What have I missed since last Wednesday? You need to fill me in.”

  Clarke told her version to Tate, which Greta disagreed with by shaking her head in protest. But Tatewin took Clarke's side and gave Greta the raised-eyebrow, skeptical older sister look that she had perfected the moment she had met Greta. It never even fazed the girl.

  “Why don't you tell Tate about the new friend you made this week?” Greta taunted her, turning the tables on her best friend.

  “Mike and I are just friends.” Clarke rolled her eyes, not wanting to enter this territory.

  “That's what I said.” Greta smirked.

  “The drummer?” Tatewin clarified.

  Clarke swallowed hard and looked down into her drink. “Yeah, it's not anything to even talk about,” she lied.

  “What about the walk on the beach late at night a few days ago?” Greta elbowed her in the ribs and Tate's eyes went wide with curiosity. Clarke felt her face get hot.