by A. S. Green
“Bennet!” I whisper-yell.
“I hate all of these weird underthings,” he says. “We’ll burn the rest tomorrow, and I’ll buy you some pretty ones. Something that you deserve to wear.”
His fingers tease me, making me forget all about poor Iron Man. I let out a low groan, and he places his finger over my mouth. “Quiet. You don’t want to call attention,” he says. “I’m the only one who gets to see you teetering on the edge.”
“You can’t see me,” I say in a ragged breath.
“I’ve seen you, and my memory is pretty good. Right about now you’re biting your lip.”
“Dammit, you’re good.”
“And now?” he asks. “Am I good now?”
His mouth seals over my breast, hot through my shirt and Iron Man bra. I wonder how far he’s going to take this. “Really good,” I say.
He gently pushes me back but shifts my hips forward, to the edge of the bench. A second later, I jump at the sudden warmth of his mouth between my legs. He licks through me then sucks at my clit. “And now your eyes are tight. You’re holding on for dear life.”
Holy shit.
I hear the telltale sound of his zipper coming down, and the crinkle of a condom wrapper tearing.
I wet my lips in anticipation, not even caring that someone could walk in. It’s not that I want to get caught, but the mere possibility of it heightens every sensation that Bennet is raking through my body.
He lifts me off the workbench and makes a one-eighty, pressing me against the wall. I bite his lip, tasting me on his tongue. My legs wrap around this waist, and I lock my ankles together. He groans and pushes into me.
His right hand is splayed wide, gripping my rear, while his left hand stays behind my back, protecting me from the rough wall as I slide up and down. His breath is hot in my ear, and the stubble on his jaw rubs against my neck.
“Fuck, D’Arcy, I will never get used to this.” He slams into me, setting up a rhythm. “You. Are. Everything. So. Perfect. For me.”
And all the while I’m answering, Yes! Yes! This is the best goddamn Summer Fest in the history of mankind, and when he pushes me to climax, his mouth closes over mine, swallowing my cry.
Neither of us can move. We stay like this, joined together, for a few more seconds before he fully regains his senses and slowly lowers my feet to the floor.
“Holy shit,” he whispers against my neck.
“Yeah. That was…unexpected.”
“Let me catch my breath because I’ve got…I need to tell you…I have a few more surprises.”
“Already?” I’ve learned to like Bennet’s surprises. I lay both palms flat against his chest and wish I could really see him. His heart is pounding beneath my hands.
He chuckles as he puts himself back together. I smooth my skirt against my bare rear.
“I have to save one thing for later tonight after things quiet down and we can really talk, but the other surprises I can give you now.” He kisses me below my ear. “I got a call from my agent. C.C. Knight wants to record one of the songs from my EP and put it on his next album, plus—”
“Wait. What? That’s amazing! How could there be more than that?”
“Shhh,” he says, laughing. “Plus, there’s already some interest in ‘Callisto’ for a movie soundtrack.” His fingers tighten over my shoulders because he must know I’m about to jump into his arms. “It’s a small one. Indie. Very low budget, and it’s not a done deal, but it would still bring in some decent cash if it goes through.”
“Bennet, that’s fantastic!”
“I know, I know. It doesn’t look like I’ll have to move to Nashville to do my music. I can stay here and take care of Sam. It’s like everything is finally coming together for me.” He chuckles. “My family would probably shit themselves if they could see me now.”
Even though I can’t see his face, I know he’s beaming. Then he adds, “And maybe things are coming together for you and me, too, because the other thing is that Doyle got a call from Pete Murphy. Seems Murphy has developed a serious case of gout.”
I wait to see if he’s kidding. If it’s a joke, I don’t get it. “Okay, I give. Who’s Pete Murphy?” When I say it myself, I realize the name does sound vaguely familiar.
“Calloway’s fishing partner. Apparently, Murphy’s foot is the size of a loaf of bread. They’re coming home early. Tomorrow morning is what I heard.”
“Coming home?” My voice goes up an extra octave. Strange, but I’ve come to think of the lighthouse as my home. And now I’m being evicted?
“Yep. Your paycheck has been on hold for you at the post office, so you can pick that up this afternoon. But more importantly, you’ve got to make a decision, D’Arcy.”
“I do?” My head is filled with a rushing sound as if someone is holding a seashell to my ear.
“Mmm-hmm.” His fingers stroke my arm, ending at my hand, letting my fingers slip through his. He pushes his hips against mine, and I’m instantly wet for him. Again. “You’ve got to decide where you’re going to sleep tomorrow night, and hopefully all the nights after that.”
Before I can give him the answer he already knows, Mr. March calls out, “Bennet? Anybody seen him?”
Bennet whispers, “Stay put for a sec,” then he opens the door to the storage room. A band of light hits the workbench. He snags up my ripped panties and shoves them in his back pocket, stepping out into the open room.
“Here I am,” Bennet responds with no hint of embarrassment or apology. “Need help unloading the firewood?”
“If you don’t mind,” Mr. March grumbles, and the two of them head outside.
A few seconds later I step out of the closet and watch Bennet walk away, his jeans ride low on his hips. His lumberjack shirt is halfway untucked. My brain scrambles to catch up.
Natalie comes to stand by me. “You’ve got a wet, mouth mark on your shirt.”
Crap. I cross my arms over the evidence of Bennet’s attentions. I should go home and get some new underwear, too.
The barn is really taking shape. The columns are up now, and it looks more like a Greek forum than it did before Bennet arrived. I don’t think Natalie has anything to worry about. But then a roll of thunder threatens in the distance, and her eyes go wide with panic.
Bennet reenters the barn and notices Natalie’s expression. “Settle down,” he says, laughing at her in that way that says all will be well. Whatever hostility there had been between them this morning, it’s gone now, at least for Bennet. “The storm is way north of us. You wait. Tonight will be perfect.”
Natalie tightens her lips like she’s not ready to be pacified, but he gives her a chuck on the shoulder, and she softens. “You better be right, ferryman,” she says with a sigh. “You better be right.”
Chapter Fifty-One
KATHERINE
On the way home from the barn, I stop at the post office to collect my paycheck. It’s now stowed safely in my suitcase, leaving the rest of my afternoon free to master the draping and tying of the world’s most perfect toga. If only I could figure out how to make it not so tight.
I hop, two footed, to the mirror to see how I look. Not bad. Fairly authentic. I adjust the bottom to give myself a little more slack without ruining the overall effect. Better. But it needs something.
I slap my leg to call for Lucy. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Lucy follows eagerly, her ears alert.
The air is cooler now. Summer is coming to a close. With Calloway already on his way home, I won’t be the summer girl much longer. I will be Katherine D’Arcy, college senior, future professional party planner, unexpected dog-person, lover of Bennet, and captain of my own ship.
I breathe in the cool, crisp air, the clean scent of the lake mingled with the smell of ash as the breeze picks through the remnants of our old campfire. I think of my little house. I love its rugged exterior and its plaster walls that aren’t quite plumb, the peeling paint, and the sound of the wind as it whistles through its l
eaky windows. I love the spooky groaning of the widow’s walk and the friends who stroll through the front door—especially those who never knock. In a handful of hours, I will be a trespasser here. It won’t be mine anymore. A small sigh escapes my lips. Little Bear has grown on me.
Lucy and I spend the next hour climbing on the bank (as best I can). I pick wildflowers and comb the sand for beach glass. The wind blows my hair into a wild tangle, and I fashion a wreath of bright orange flowers, circling them around my head. When I’m done, my face is flushed and I feel wild and free and even beautiful.
Lucy, on the other hand, has chosen a beauty routine that includes covering herself in burrs.
“Get over here, you dumb dog.” I can tell she recognizes the term of endearment. She jogs over to me, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. She’s nearly smiling.
“It’s going to take forever to get these burrs off you. Ugh,” I say, starting to pick them off one by one. Some of them are so sharp they cling to my fingers, and I shake my hand aggressively, to get them off.
“I don’t have time for this.” Judging by the sun, Bennet will be here in less than an hour to pick me up.
Lucy scampers up the bank, leaping from rock to rock. I climb more slowly, hindered in large part by my toga, which won’t allow me more than a twelve-inch stride. When I reach the top, I find Lucy stopped mid-yard. Her body in a decidedly defensive posture and a low growl rumbles through her chest.
I look toward what has her attention. The door to the lighthouse is ajar. I clearly remember having closed it, though I’ve never bothered to lock it. Could there be something in the house?
“What is it, Lu?” Lucy doesn’t move. She stands twenty feet from the door and won’t stop the low, menacing growl that’s vibrating out of her. Well, that does it. Something is obviously in the house. I shiver, thinking of the bear licking the dishes in the sink.
Lucy growls again.
“Shush, shush. Come here, girl.”
Lucy backs away from the house, never taking her eyes off the door until she’s by my side. The hair on her back bristles, showcasing the impressive collection of sand burrs she’s collected. I consider calling Mr. March, but the only phone available to me is inside. I take Lucy around the side of the lighthouse and together we sidle along the exterior wall.
I crouch low as we pass a window, creeping under it until the front door is only a few feet away. Through the open gap, I catch a glimpse of the red kitchen chairs, but nothing seems amiss. I can’t hear anything going on in there, either. Probably just my overactive imagination.
But Lucy is still practically on point, a low growl in her throat.
Then, the door flies open, and the surprise of it sends me falling onto my backside.
“Katherine?”
I stare up with a mixture of confusion and panic. “Wh-What are you doing here?”
Andrew reaches down to give me a hand, and I take it reluctantly. He pulls me up so quickly that my feet briefly leave the ground, and I find myself standing inches from him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask again. Lucy barks.
He smothers a grin and looks at Lu with curiosity. “I wanted to surprise you for your birthday, so…” He throws his arms out wide. There’s a piece of paper in one of his hands. “Surprise!”
“Surprise,” I echo back. Turns out I still hate surprises—Bennet’s being the only exceptions.
“Man, it’s good to see you,” he says with an exhale, then he pulls me into his arms. I react as best I can, offering a weak smile. His hugs used to make my day.
“Ha! You’re a mess,” he says, fixing my hair. “An adorable mess. What’s with the toga?”
I don’t answer his question. Instead I say, “Was this your idea, or my mom’s?”
He shakes his head. “Neither. I wish I could take credit. Actually, a friend of yours from up here called. Alli, I think? Said it would be a nice surprise for your birthday.”
I take a deep breath to calm myself. Of course she did. Super helpful. Alli must have picked up Andrew’s number from my phone when I’d left it on the table at Paddy’s. I seriously have to put a passcode on that thing.
“Was she wrong? Should I not have come?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, Andrew. It’s just that I thought a bear— I mean…” I decide I don’t need to freak him out unnecessarily with talk of wild animals. Andrew’s only brush with wildlife has been the birds at his mother’s feeder. “You scared me, that’s all.”
“Oh,” he says, sighing in relief. “I thought you were mad about me coming in. The door wasn’t locked, you know.”
“Yeah,” I say, hesitantly. I want to ask, So how long are you planning on staying? And where do you plan on staying? But I can’t figure out a way to ask without sounding rude.
“I think one of your new friends must have left this,” he says, handing me the piece of paper he’s been holding. “It was on your kitchen table. Is there some kind of a party tonight?”
I take it from him and turn it over. My eyes scan to the bottom. It’s unsigned: Had to go back to work for a bit (Mooshy pulled seniority on me). I’ll have to meet you at the party. Sorry. See you there!
Bennet must have come up here during his break. What if he’d run into Andrew? Seen him on the ferry crossing and recognized him from his photo? The mere thought of it sends ice water running through my veins.
“Come in,” Andrew says, inviting me into my own house. He heads for the kitchen counter, then comes back toward me carrying two shot glasses. “Happy Birthday! I wanted to be the first person to have a drink with you.”
I sniff it.
“José Cuervo says ‘Happy Birthday,’ too.”
I grimace and set it on the table. I don’t think tequila is going to be my gig.
Andrew raises his eyebrows. “So…the party?” He tosses back his shot.
“It’s a toga party,” I say, looking past him, my eyes unfocused.
“Well, that explains some things,” he says. When I look back at him, his eyes are glancing over my outfit. “Do you have something for me to wear?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I mean, you don’t want to go. I’ll be busy. I’m on the planning committee. You’d be bored.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’ll be fun. Plus, it’s your twenty-first birthday. Your best friend should be buying you drinks on your birthday.”
I don’t respond because I’m too distracted figuring out how I can get a message to Bennet. If he doesn’t already know Andrew is here, I don’t want him to be taken by surprise. I can tell Andrew is uncomfortable with my silence. He probably thought his enthusiasm for the party would get a different reaction from me.
Lucy watches him warily.
Andrew clears his throat and smooths his hands over his oxford shirt. The sleeves are folded up to mid-elbow, each turn perfectly creased. “So, what’s with the dog?”
“Oh.” I glance at Lucy. “She’s the lighthouse owner’s dog. She goes with the place.”
“That has to have made an interesting summer for you,” he says, chuckling.
“You have no idea. But I guess it’s over now.”
“What do you mean?”
“The owner’s coming back tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding!” He jerks his head, but his hair doesn’t move. “That’s great news. This is working out perfectly. I mean, assuming he’s still going to pay you what he promised.”
I don’t answer. Instead I go to the linen closet to find a sheet for Andrew to wear.
“When does the party start?” he asks.
“Uh, soon. We serve food at six.” Maybe Andrew and I could just go for an hour. We could be gone before Bennet even got there. I can explain things to him later. I could have Rachel run a note down to him at the ferry in case he arranges to get there earlier.
But the plan comes up short when I try to think what the note should say. I don’t want Andrew and Bennet in the same r
oom, but at the same time, this is Bennet’s island. His home. He shouldn’t have to stay away. And I don’t want to hurt him by suggesting that he should.
I need to come completely clean with Andrew. I don’t want to go home. I definitely don’t want to go to law school. I don’t want the life he’s been planning out for me for the last three years. But I don’t want him to hate me, either. I don’t want to lose my best friend.
Andrew’s surprise visit hasn’t given me time to plan what I want to say. My script isn’t finished. And I desperately want something written out that I can cling to as I recite my lines. Bennet hadn’t been willing to write that script. Macie would have gladly volunteered. My theater-major friend, off in Tibet when I need her most.
I come back to the living room with a twin bed sheet. Andrew is sitting on the couch in the same spot that Bennet had claimed as his own. I wince a little as he throws his feet up on the table—the same way Bennet does.
I toss him the sheet, and he catches it in one hand. He stands and strips off his shirt, folding it precisely before setting it on the couch. He keeps his shorts on, then wraps the sheet around himself in a couple different configurations before he gets it just right. He’s been playing a lot of tennis. I can tell. His arms are dark brown and muscled, a stark contrast to the bleached sheet.
For a moment I am distracted, then, realizing the Vega is the only car in the driveway, I say, “Did you leave your car in New Porte?”
“Yeah. It made me too nervous to drive the Bimmer onto the ferry. I asked your friend Alli to give me a lift up here.”
I curse under my breath.
“She seems very nice.”
“Oh, she’s all kinds of nice,” I say. “Do you want to walk or drive tonight?”
“Is the party far?” he asks.
“No, there’s a path over the berm. It follows the road up to the berry farm.”
He glances out the window at the miserable-looking Vega. “It’s almost six now. Let’s walk,” he says. “But can you put my mother’s ring back on? It makes me nervous not knowing where it is.”
I stare at him for a second, my mouth tightening. That ring. Was it just another way to give a little of himself, without giving me enough? A family heirloom to keep me holding on to a dream?