Steal My Heart, Trevor (Best Friends To Forever Book 2)

by Barbara Lohr

  Sometimes Bryn wished Malcolm didn’t work at the library. But Bryn had met him through Josie.

  Emily jumped into the conversation. “Josie, are you concerned about Bryn or Malcolm?”

  Billy came ambling down the main walkway, his limp barely noticeable. “You girls sure do like to get your exercise. And in all this heat too.”

  “Yeah, we’re walking fools.” Josie shot out ahead of them, ignoring Emily’s question.

  They left the marina. While her friends talked, Bryn’s mind buzzed. What if Trevor came early? Her steps slowed. “Think I’m going to head back,” she told them when she got to Sweetgum Crossing, which led back to Moonglade and her place. “Big day ahead.”

  Turning off, she overheard Josie murmur to Emily, “Why do I think she's brushing us off?”

  Bryn ignored it. When she got home, she checked on her five babies out back, along with her pans of turtle eggs, all neatly marked with dated sticks.

  But Bryn couldn’t spend anymore time lollygagging. Grabbing some fresh clothes from her drawer, she took the fastest shower in history. After patting herself dry, she applied a few swipes of her favorite Kai cream. Then she stuck her head through a pale green T-shirt and pulled on her darker green miniskirt––not her usual Monday wardrobe. She wore the skirt on dates.

  Bryn had been told she had great legs. Today she hoped that was true. Her flowered clogs were the final touch. Letting her hair down from the claw clip, she ran her fingers through it. By the time she finished a quick breakfast of oatmeal and a banana, she was ready. The ceiling fan whirred lazily above her head. Dashing about her living room, she puffed up the turtle pillows she’d made herself. What would he think of her place?

  Right on the dot of ten, the bell rang and she opened the door. “I knew it.”

  “Knew what?” Trevor asked as he stepped inside. Looking drop-dead gorgeous, Trevor wore a tie today. Although she could be wrong, the crazy design in red and blue marked it as a Jerry Garcia tie. Surprising for conservative Trevor. His students must love it.

  “You were always on time for class, Trevor. Sitting at your desk, hands folded neatly.” She didn't mean to tease but couldn't help it. That familiar blush swept across his cheeks. In grade school they used to have blush contests. Tried to embarrass the heck out of each other until they were both giggling under a tree.

  “I loved school.” He shifted one of those broad shoulders. “Couldn't wait to get there, as weird as that sounds.”

  “I know. I kind of felt the same way.” But part of her rush to get to school was Trevor. Inside that big school door, he’d be waiting quietly. “What hand has a surprise?” he’d say. No matter how she answered, left or right, he always had something for her– sometimes a cinnamon stick, sometimes a clementine orange.

  He’d been her best friend.

  Of course, the cool kids in class, like Ashley Friedman and Joel Dashly would walk past. “Weirdo,” Joel would say, loud enough for Trevor to flatten his lips together. “Red-haired freak,” Ashley would add for Bryn’s benefit.

  What did they care? Trevor and Bryn were stronger together. At least, that’s how she’d felt.

  Trevor glanced around and she knew he took note of everything in her living room. The boy had x-ray eyes. The worn green sofa was partially covered with a multi-colored afghan her mother had made. Turtle pillows were tucked into the corners of the sofa and the chairs. Her family photos were arranged on the mantel above a fireplace that needed cleaning.

  This was the boy who could play “I Packed My Grandmother’s Bag” with her out on the playground and rattle off twenty-six items as if he were reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. When it came her turn, she’d add something complicated, like a red-haired alligator with three legs. Didn’t matter. She might as well have said “red cow.”

  But she was dreaming. And he was staring at her. “What?” She swept a hand through her hair.

  His eyes circled back to the ashes in the fireplace. “Don't the ashes bother you?”

  Her chin went up. “They remind me of a cozy January fire.”

  Trevor didn’t look convinced. “And you don’t have any...you know, phlegm, in your throat.” His thumb and middle finger touched the pulse point in his throat.

  How could those words sound sexy? But they did, coming from him in a voice that wasn’t high and reedy anymore.

  “No.” She tried hard not to laugh. “I haven’t noticed any drainage in my throat from the ashes, Trevor.” As if it’s any business of yours.

  His lips twitched. “That was gross, right?”

  Poor guy. “Right. But I won’t make you carry my books home from school, so you’re okay.” She’d always teased him out of his uncertainty. “Follow me.” And she led him through the kitchen and out onto the porch.

  Although she didn't have eyes in the back of her head, she could feel him taking it all in. Probably cataloguing everything. Thank goodness she’d folded her dishcloths, wiped down the counters and had her mother’s Fiesta dishes tucked away. The only time she’d ever been in Trevor’s house, the place had been neat as a pin. The living room could have been in Southern Home Charm. The sofas and chairs were pale blue and so were the drapes, trimmed in silver fringe and looking elegant but so heavy. The Daniels’ home felt like a movie set.

  But when she turned, his eyes weren’t on her neatly folded dishcloths. He was checking out her legs. She choked back a gasp. “Hello?”

  “I was just...,” and he swept a hand to the sliding doors leading out to the deck, “...admiring the view.”

  Sure you were. Trevor had definitely grown up. Not that she minded.

  “You’ve got a nice place here. Feels homey.” His eyes found her pitcher collection displayed above the cupboards.

  “I collect them wherever I go.” Which mainly was to the other small towns. The pitchers were a mixture of turtle designs or flowers. “Nothing too fancy,” she murmured,

  “Your home looks lived in and nice, just like your place in Asheboro.”

  His smile looked tired. What was his life like now? Sliding the door open, she led him out onto the deck.

  “Wow.” Trevor’s head pivoted. “This yard looks as long as a football field.”

  “I love it. When my parents bought this house, Daddy said we had a big lot with a little house. He kept adding on every year.”

  Then his attention shifted to the conglomeration of dish pans, buckets and odd boxes on the deck.

  “That’s my nursery.” Feeling ridiculous, Bryn tried to see it through his eyes.

  Leaning over, he peeked into the closest pan with the popsicle sticks. “You've got them all neatly dated. Bryn, you’re a scientist.”

  “Not really.” But the appreciation in his voice touched a chord. “Nanny and I mark the date we find the eggs. That way I know when to expect the babies.” The turtles might be as close as she ever came to a family. She was turning thirty this year, her “sell by” date, as Josie had teased.

  And Malcolm? Well, she didn’t know. That last date had left her with an empty feeling inside.

  “And you said the gestation period is sixty days?”

  “Just about.” Reaching into the shade, she picked up her latest pan of newbies.

  Trevor stepped closer, his height dwarfing her. She remembered when he was only one inch taller than she was. Mama had measured their height on the kitchen wall. “What have you got there? The latest batch?”

  She nodded. The five hatchlings were scrabbling around in the pan. “May I?” Eyes bright and one hand poised above the sand, he looked like a little kid at Christmas.

  “Be careful.” She didn't have to say that. Careful was Trevor’s middle name. Still, she held her breath as he reached in and gathered up one of the tiny turtles. Usually, only Bryn and Nanny handled her babies.

  Trevor was studying every millimeter of the baby turtle in his hand while the tiny thing took off, legs flying and unaware that he could drop. “Feisty little guy,” he said as the tu
rtle kept crawling across his palm, head craning on a skinny neck. “Is this the little guy you had the other day?”

  “Oh no.” She swept a hand toward the marsh. “We sent him on his way with a couple other newbies.”

  “They have a lot of energy, don’t they?”

  “Sure do.” She watched him with the tiny turtle. Gentle and caring, Trevor kept the process going, one hand under the other. He was probably a great daddy.

  “Each turtle has a unique design on its back.” Then she stopped because after all, he was the one with all the knowledge. She only knew from her experience and the internet. “That still amazes me. When you look at them together, you can see that.” Gently picking up another baby, she held her turtle next to Trevor’s hand.

  “They’re different all right.” Trevor was almost whispering, as if they were in a nursery where babies were slumbering. “You should have been a scientist.”

  What nonsense. Being oh, so careful, she lowered the hatchling back into the sandy dish pan. Trevor did the same. “Yes, well, nothing works out the way you expect.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  When she looked up, Trevor looked so sad. How could she have forgotten his past history? “I’m sorry. What a stupid thing for me to say.”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “That’s all right. Not your fault. I sure didn't plan on being a single father.” The sun beat down on the deck and she moved into the shade of the oak tree. Trevor followed. Wind chimes sounded, high and light, from one of the oak trees where she’d hung them to catch the faintest breeze.

  “Of course you didn’t.” That turn of events must have been hard for him...and for his mother. But he had two little girls, who were no doubt precious.

  “What about you?” he asked. “You said you’re not married.”

  Looking anywhere but at Trevor, she shook her head.

  “Why not, Bryn? You have so much to offer.”

  That pesky red flush was working its way up her neck. Putting a hand up, she rubbed it. She felt so confused about Malcolm. “I’ve been dating someone for a while now.”

  “For a while?” He glanced down to her left hand.

  She whisked it behind her hip. “Maybe more a friend than anything.” Was that what Malcolm was? Had those words come from her heart? After watching the chemistry between Emily and Jackson, she wanted that.

  Wanted the sweet glances, the tender caring, the man she couldn’t wait to wake up to every morning. All this flashed through her mind as she stood in the cool leafy shadows with Trevor.

  “Take your time, Bryn.” His words cut through her dream.

  “Now that sounds very professor-like.”

  Hands in his pockets, Trevor leaned against the railing. “I may be a professor. But I’m definitely not an expert when it comes to relationships.” The last was offered with a frustrated sigh. Trevor would want to be an expert. That’s just how he rolled.

  The poor guy. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you.” Where was the boy who’d been so excited every time they turned over a rock and found a garter snake? Had his divorce destroyed that spark?

  Then his face lightened. “But I have my girls, Daisy and Annabelle.”

  “They must be very special.” Being an only child had been rough. She’d love to have lots of children someday. But her “someday” was starting to feel like a maybe.

  “Friendships are good, Bryn. That’s all I’m saying.” Trevor was choosing his words carefully. “Make sure this is someone you have a lot in common with, enough to last through the years. No need to jump the gun.”

  “I’m not.” Is that what he’d done? How weird that they were having this personal conversation in her backyard. Time to change the subject. “You like your work, right?”

  Looking up into the trees dripping with moss, he nodded. “My work gives me a lot of satisfaction. I like compiling the data, seeing everything come together.”

  When his eyes swept down to meet hers, he wore that little boy grin. “But your yard is like having your very own lab.”

  Was that a wistful note in his voice? It hurt her heart.

  “You’ve even got a creek with your own boat.” He nodded toward the battered blue rowboat attached to the short pier that ran into the marsh.

  Bryn smiled. She loved that old thing. “My daddy took me out in that boat on weekends. Taught me how to fish.”

  His eyes traveled the yard. “Only one neighbor?”

  “Yes. Nanny. She helps me with the turtles. Nanny and her husband were great friends of my folks.” Then her eyes veered left. “The other land belongs to someone. Maybe someday it will be sold.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You should buy it. Keep that green space.”

  “Right.” As if she could afford it. Clearly, he still lived in a different world.

  Leaving the deck, they walked out into the yard, past the glider and her wide plot of picking flowers to the shoreline, where the marsh met the lawn. As if this were twenty years ago, Trevor sent her a secret smile that told her he liked it.

  “I love all your birdbaths and your hanging chimes. A lot’s going on out here.”

  She looked around at the collection. “Thank you. Most of this I found at garage sales.”

  Walking farther into the yard, Trevor scanned the ground. “How do you gather the eggs?”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.” With him tagging behind her, she took him to the sandy spaces around the trees, talking a mile a minute as she pointed out the sandy stretches where the mama turtles usually laid their eggs. Soon they were back at the pier, where the ground grew softer. “Don’t get your feet wet. It can be spongy here. The mothers come from the marsh, of course. Sometimes my neighbor spots them traveling across the lawn, trying to find just the right spot. They often return to the same place every year.”

  She looked to him for agreement. Trevor wore a giddy smile, as if he were enjoying this whole thing. “No. Can’t say as I did know that.”

  She led him back to one of the trees where the sand was disturbed. “They know how to cover their tracks. If Nanny, my neighbor, hears the birds making a fuss, she heads out here right quick to scatter the crows. When the mother’s finished, we cover the nest with one of the wire baskets.” She motioned to a pile of them under the deck. “What?”

  Trevor shook his head. “You sure know a lot about these terrapins.”

  “The turtles? Well, of course I do.” She straightened. “When you love something you learn all about it.”

  “And you’re saving so many turtles by your work.”

  Looking around, she sighed. “I hope so. But if I’m not around or if Nanny Gillum isn’t here, the birds swoop in. Even a raccoon or two will come digging if we don’t have sharp eyes.” Her throat closed. She hated to think about it. “If I get home and see a disturbed nest that Nanny hasn’t found, why it just breaks my heart.”

  When her eyes filled, she felt so foolish.

  Trevor touched her arm lightly. Electricity sparked through her body.

  “You’re doing a great job,” he finally said, stuffing his hand back in his pocket. “You can’t control everything, Bryn. It’s just not possible.”

  His words soothed her. Trevor knew. He understood what this was all about, and thatå meant the world to her. Although Malcolm was sweet and kind, he’d never been into the turtles.

  He looked at his watch. “I should get going. Thanks for showing me your laboratory.”

  “Laboratory,” she said with a little laugh, leading him back across the lawn. “This is more like my nursery.”

  “Laboratory,” he repeated. “Is it okay if I call it that?”

  She walked him to his jeep.

  “Thanks for letting me come over.” He gave her a long look.

  “No problem.” She tried to read the coffee-colored eyes.

  His hug felt unexpected and warm. When he pushed away, the heat stayed between them. “It’s good to be with an old friend, Bryn. I mean that.” He sq
ueezed her arms gently and then backed away.

  “Me too.” She relaxed with his words.

  Waving goodbye, he climbed into his jeep, put it in gear and drove away. Bryn stood there, running one hand lazily over the spot he’d just touched.

  So that was that. Strolling back toward the cottage, she felt peaceful. Talking to Trevor had been surprisingly easy, almost like talking to Josie and or Emily. Only he knew way more about the turtles than her girlfriends.

  “Yoo hoo!” Nanny Gillum gave a wave from her back porch. No doubt she’d been watching the whole thing. Well, that didn’t bother Bryn. Nanny was like family, and Bryn was short on family.

  Drawing closer to where Nanny hung over her porch railing, Bryn said, “Want to go with me to send these little guys off?”

  “You bet.” Reaching around, Nanny grabbed the old hat she always wore. Scooting up the steps, Bryn picked up the dish pan. “Come on. Time to go home to Mother Marsh.” Glancing at the skies, she breathed a sigh of relief. No sign of that mean old hawk. She hadn’t heard the owl in a while, and the raccoons and possums were all asleep after a busy night of foraging.

  With Nanny beside her, Bryn trotted across the yard to the marsh. She picked a little point that jutted out, where the water began to seep through the marshy grass into her sandals. Bryn and Nanny each scooped a baby from the sand. Stooping, she gently laid him down at the edge on the marsh grass, now a vibrant summer green. Nanny did the same.

  “Isn’t it amazing how they know the way?” she whispered to Nanny. She hated seeing these tiny things go off all alone. But Trevor was right. They belonged here. Extending their little legs, they took off, making their way through the grass that quickly swallowed them up, protecting them from sight.

  “Little tigers, that’s what they are.” Nanny reached for another.

  Within minutes the turtles were gone, hopefully safe from the forces of nature. Bryn understood all that, but she’d rather have the birds eat the snakes. Not her babies.

  Bryn checked her phone for the time. “Oh my goodness. I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Don’t you worry none.” Nanny’s eyes swept the area. “I’ve got this covered.”