Return To Us (Sand & Fog Series Book 6)

by Susan Ward

  But it’s wrong time, wrong guy, and wrong thing to do. If life has taught me anything it should be not to dare three wrongs on my mental whiteboard.

  Groaning, I head back into the entry hall to tackle another load of junk. For some reason, my legs continue to the hallway toward my bedroom.

  My lips pucker as I stare at the closed door. I haven’t been inside the room since the day I had the giant blowup with my dad and he disowned me.

  As I debate whether to look inside, my pulse ticks faster and faster. I’m unsteady on my feet and breathless. Which is completely absurd because it’s just a bedroom. It’s probably stacked high with stuff like the living room and I won’t even recognize it.

  For seven years Dad didn’t talk to me.

  Fat chance my bedroom would be spared the demolition of his hoarding tendencies.

  The cold war between us was hell.

  But I never stopped loving him.

  I run my fingers through my hair and try to rally the courage to open the door. That I’m so worked up about this bugs the heck out of me. I’m twenty-seven. I’ve grown up, and I’m not the same girl Dad tossed out of his life without a backward glance.

  Open the door, Willow.

  Confront the past.

  Delaying this won’t help a thing. I’ll have to clean out the room before I lease the apartment.

  Fine, I’m going in.

  My stomach flips as my fingers close around the knob. Stale air greets my nostrils, and I lean in to flip on the lights.

  My heart stops.

  My pink and black Roxy quilt.

  My posters on the wall.

  The stuffed animals I’d kept from when I was little, neatly arranged on the shelves with my books. My gaze locks on the silly lava lamp Jade gave me for my sixteenth birthday, right there on the desk next to my hairbrush and the makeup organizer.

  I’d forgotten how pink it is in here and how much I hated being surrounded by Jade’s hand-me-downs. Almost everything in this room from the quilt to the posters were hers first.

  Then an object on my nightstand catches my eye and my stomach drops. Never once did I imagine that would be here. Or the note I left lying beside it my last night home.

  Brushing at my tears rolling down my cheeks, I sink down on the bed and reach for the paper, scanning the hastily penned words. I’m sorry, Daddy. Please forgive me. Mr. Tomlin thinks the watch is valuable. Maybe you can sell it to make up for what I did so you don’t lose the bar. I’m sorry.

  I turn the watch in my hands. It’s heavy and the gold is cold against my flesh. I don’t know why my dad didn’t sell it but touching Eric’s watch lets free the emotions and memories I always keep bridled.

  Tears roll down my cheeks.

  I never expected this.

  Seeing my room, clean and exactly as it had been, makes me wonder if Jade is right. Dad was sorry for what he did and had forgiven me.

  Flopping back on the bed, I stare up at the ceiling. Being in my bedroom is like coming home again only it isn’t. Dad’s dead, Jade’s married, and the last time this was my room I lay in this bed with Eric James curled up on the pillow beside me, staring at me with his luscious blue eyes, whispering in his sexy British accent that he was in love with me.

  Chapter Four

  Willow

  I HEAR A SOUND outside my door and I jolt up into a sitting position to find myself locked in the bold blue gaze of EJ, who’s standing in the doorway, staring at me.

  Alarm shoots through my veins as I suffer what feels like heart failure. What the hell is he doing in my dad’s apartment, watching me lying on the bed? And why does he have to look all outdoorsy sexy, wind-tousled hair with his jacket gone, answering the mystery of what he looks like underneath. His gray knit sweater molding his upper torso confirms my suspicion that he has a very nice physique.

  From how he’s standing, I’m certain he’s been there for a while. How did he get into the building? And better question, why?

  “What are you doing in here?” I whisper, anxiousness webbing my voice, but a smile appears on his lips.

  “Ivy sent me up,” he says by way of explanation. “She said you needed some help tonight. Some boxes you wanted to be moved.”

  My mouth has dropped open and I can’t locate my voice. Ivy? Oh no. How could she?

  A slight frown mars EJ’s lovely brow. “Is it the stuff by the front door? Should I start there?”

  My heart is beating at a frantic tempo and for some reason I’m blushing. I’m thoroughly thrown by the sight of him in my bedroom. What I’m able to see of him while sitting each morning in front of the bar doesn’t do him justice. The unobstructed view of him without the beanie, sunglasses, and jacket shows he’s not merely an attractive man, he’s breathtakingly handsome.

  I shake my head to gather my wits, and my cognitive functions return. “Ivy shouldn’t have bothered you,” I mutter. “I can manage fine by myself.”

  “I’m sure you can,” he acknowledges, and his voice is rich and husky like he’s enjoying me being flustered. “You’re a take-charge woman if ever I saw one. But what’s the harm in having some help?”

  Harm? He flashes his full-teeth grin at me this time and my heart almost strangles me. Why is he being Johnny on the spot to my rescue? Is it because Ivy’s right; he’s interested in me?

  The idea is unnerving, and I kick it out of my head. To distract myself I reach down to slip on my shoes and stand. “I appreciate you offering, but I don’t need your help.”

  Firm, unemotional tone—I pat myself on the back.

  His eyes widen. “I’ll start loading the things from the foyer and you can decide what you want me to do next.”

  He doesn’t wait for a reply and heads back into the hallway. What I want him to do next is get out of my building, but that doesn’t appear to be an option in EJ’s mind.

  When I catch up to him, he has the cart half loaded already. That was quick, but then he’s working at quite a pace. Maybe he’s eager to get finished and out of here. I warn myself to get a grip and stop overthinking this.

  “Are you redecorating?” he asks.

  “No. Cleaning it to renovate and rent out.”

  “You’re going to rent this apartment out?”

  “That’s the general plan.” I lean back against the wall and watch his back muscles play beneath his sweater as he reaches to lift another box. “That is if I find anyone who wants it.”

  He smiles, amused. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. Not with how rentals in this neighborhood get snapped up so quickly.”

  How he says that suggests he has been looking for an apartment and makes me concerned he might apply here. I don’t know why, but the thought of EJ living in my building is disconcerting. I can feel myself blushing hotter and can’t imagine why he has that effect on me.

  “You’re probably going to need to paint and re-carpet in here,” he suggests as his gaze flits around the living room. “It’s pretty dated. And I don’t think you can save the carpet by cleaning it.”

  I frown. Is he hoping to get hired as a day laborer when I decorate? Is that why he jumped on Ivy’s suggestion to help me?

  “I plan to, eventually,” I say ambiguously.

  “I think that’s it,” he says, glancing around as if looking for more stuff to add to the heap on the cart. “If you show me where you want this, I’ll unload it for you.”

  “This way,” I mutter, pushing off the wall.

  I glance behind me as he follows.

  “If you need to get going, I can unload this by myself.” I push the call button for the elevator so as not to look at him.

  “No. I’ve got a bit of time. I can stay and finish.” He laughs, the rich waves so husky I slant him a glance. “I don’t have to be anywhere until eight.”

  He says that as if he’s got an appointment or a date, and it makes me wonder exactly where a homeless person has to be. A shelter? Or
somewhere else? A girl?

  I step quickly into the elevator and take a spot in front by the panel. I avoid watching him as he maneuvers the dolly in and stands a bit too close behind me.

  “What floor?” he asks. My hand moves forward to hit the button, and it’s not until our fingers brush that I note he’s reaching as well. The contact is like a zap, as if I’ve touched a downed power wire or something. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it run all the way down my body. I scramble for my composure.

  “Third floor,” I say, quickly drawing back my arm.

  He hits the circle and the doors close. “What else do you have planned for tonight?” he asks, sensual lips curled in a smile.

  “This is it, then home.”

  He arches a brow. “You’re not dating anyone?” he asks, his voice so soft that for a moment I think I imagined the question.

  “No,” I whisper but my stomach is shimmying.

  “Amazing.” He cocks his head to one side and his gaze makes my heart jump.

  Oh no.

  Don’t let him ask me out—that is, if that’s where this is going.

  I lift my nose. “Not amazing at all. I work a lot and that doesn’t leave much time for anything else.”

  He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he considers my answer. “The guys in Seattle are bigger fools than I thought they were. You’re a very beautiful woman.”

  My breath hitches. I have to get off the subject of me—those eyes of his are beguiling.

  The elevator doors open, and I briskly step out. “You can just leave the dolly there, next to the rest of the boxes.”

  “Aren’t you going to need the cart tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  And to my vexation he begins to unload it. I try to dismiss the unwelcome image of what his back would look like without the sweater.

  “If you need anything else moved, ask me.” He smiles. “I figure I owe you any help you need. Most business owners would have called the cops on me for taking over the sidewalk in front of their business. I’m grateful that you haven’t.”

  Grateful? Is that what this is? A quid pro quo for my being nice to him. I’m unexpectedly let down, though I’m sure I should be relieved.

  I watch as he swipes an arm across his brow before picking up another box. He’s focused elsewhere again, and I can hardly breathe.

  As he sets the last box on the floor and straightens, I glance up at EJ and wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me intently. It’s unnerving.

  “Thank you.” I move quickly ahead of him back toward the elevator.

  When the doors to the second floor open, he asks, “Are you finished for the night?”

  “Yes. I just need to grab my things and lock up.”

  “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  Wait for me?

  My eyes dart to him in alarm. “That’s not necessary.”

  He smiles. “You let me decide what’s necessary. It’s dark. You shouldn’t walk to your car alone.”

  Before I can remind him I do it almost every night, the elevator leaves. I spend several moments staring at the closed doors. Hurriedly, I collect my purse, use the key to turn the bolt on Dad’s door, and head for the stairs.

  When I enter the bar, EJ’s waiting beside the front exit for me, pack on his back and guitar case in his hand. We’re silent as we walk to the lot two blocks away.

  After I hit the fob, he opens my door for me. “Drive carefully, Willow.”

  Without looking at him, I slip into the driver’s seat. “Have a good night.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning. Eight, is that OK?”

  His question startles me, then I remember our breakfast date. I nod, and he closes my door. He’s smiling as he strides toward the sidewalk, and that effortlessly he’s left me a quivering mass of raging female hormones.

  Okay—he’s a very handsome man and I’m attracted to him. There, I’ve admitted it. I can’t hide from my feelings anymore. Even a meaningless flirtation that doesn’t have a chance of going anywhere is better than having nothing. I enjoy having the possibility of EJ, even knowing I don’t want it.

  I’m not looking for a man, even if I do find him attractive, very attractive.

  He’s got nothing to offer a woman.

  It’s a lost cause and I sigh with bittersweet regret.

  But it’s nice, in that schoolgirl infatuation way, to have a romantic fantasy to ponder, only I can’t risk this getting out of hand. I’ve made too many mistakes in my life over men. Beyond admiring him from afar, anything more would be wrong for me.

  I watch in the rearview mirror until EJ disappears from view, then I tap the ignition and head for home.

  I PASS THE NIGHT restless, tossing and turning, dreaming of cobalt blue eyes, callused hands, long legs, and strong fingers bringing alive my most privates places. I wake repeatedly, my heart pounding.

  I’m having sex dreams about Eric James again. They’d finally stopped a year ago, but they’re back.

  My mouth goes dry as my fingers remember the feel of his black hair. My lips pucker from the memory of his kisses. And my body tingles as if touched by the ghost of how he made love to me.

  I punch my pillow and scold myself to stop it.

  Eric James is in the past, and even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t want him in my present.

  Chapter Five

  Eric

  I HEAD TOWARD VOLUNTEER Park. Lightly scratching my beard, I zone out on the cold, sights, and smells. I can’t stop thinking about Willow.

  It took two months, but I’m one step closer to why I’m in Seattle. The problem is I’m not sure where today left us.

  She’d started the day all smiles and sweetness, bringing me breakfast. That ended good. But tonight I’d done something in her dad’s apartment to change that. It was more than me startling her by showing up unexpected. By the time I walked her to her car, she was back to keeping that careful distance between us. Even more disheartening, I could’ve sworn she’d had that look in her eyes a woman gets when she’s working up to saying something she dreads to a man.

  In case women don’t know it, it isn’t a look a man can miss. We all see it, often ignore it, and most often avoid it.

  The tell that it’s going to be bad is a slight involuntary crinkle in the brow, with our lady’s eyes rapidly searching our faces like they’re looking for an opening to say whatever it is they don’t want to.

  The wrinkle in her brow got tighter with each step from the bar. Damn. Just when it seemed all was going well, something had changed it.

  Something I’d done?

  Something I’d said earlier?

  I rack my brain, but I’m certain I played this round of Eric and Willow exactly right. Not too pushy. Not too forward. I’m positive I stayed solid in the casual flirty lane.

  Casual flirty?

  Is such a thing even possible between Willow and me?

  That static pull between us hums whenever we’re within range of each other. It’s like an energy force I have to battle. Willow must feel it, too. Maybe that’s what spooked her. She knows EJ the homeless man is attracted to her and it scares her.

  Crap, I must have unknowingly let it slip into my body language. There’s no denying I’m drawn to her as powerfully as I was the first time we met.

  Sure, in the back of my mind I can’t stop wondering what it’d be like to go to bed with her again. All guys wonder that with a girl they’ve had a physical relationship with, especially if it’d been good. Good doesn’t even belong in a sentence with Willow. It’d been epic.

  It makes it so damn hard to keep my body marching lockstep with my intentions. Rekindling us is not why I’m here. And I can’t let myself think along those lines.

  Once she finds out who I am, no matter where our relationship is, she’s going to slam the door in my face and double lock it. It’s what I deserve after how I treated her.

 
I remind myself I’m trying hard to be a better man, not the selfish asshole I used to be. It’s important to me that this amends means something. And the thought of my six-year-old daughter, Hana, reminds me I’m not in a place to be in a relationship right now, not with anyone, because once I accomplish what I need with Willow, first thing, I’m heading home.

  Being away from my daughter is the hardest part of this for me. But I have to keep my daughter and what’s right for her as my primary concern. Not my want to be with Hana. Not my family’s want to have me back in California. Until I no longer worry if I can cope with the pressures in Los Angeles, I’m staying away from home.

  I’m stronger, steadier than I was when first released from the clinic, but at times I can feel those old danger buttons in me pushed. Clearly all my issues haven’t settled yet. And the last thing I want is to go home too soon, get sucked into the toxic cycle of my former life, fail my daughter, and start using again.

  I’m sure some people would think I’m being selfish to remain on my own instead of immediately going home to be a father to Hana. But, fuck, it’s working for me. No one has a road map for sobriety and I’m doing what I think is right.

  Three blocks from the Mel’s, I pop into Frank’s Chicken Shack for a bucket with all the fixings. I want to celebrate my success today and not dwell on the negatives. I’ve got a date with Willow tomorrow, and thanks to Ivy I’m her help call while she renovates the apartment.

  As I wait in line, the delicious aroma of food cooking down-home style floods my nostrils and makes my mouth water. Frank’s is one of my favorite hole-in-the-wall eateries in Capitol Hill. It’s one of Willow’s, too, which is how I developed my new-found fascination with down-home cooking.

  When I first hit Seattle, looking her up was my primary motivation, but finding her made me ache to know everything I could about her during our years apart. That led to the reasonable conclusion that I should stalk her for a few weeks instead, get to know her again before launching into her getting to know me.

  Watching her confirmed two things that I desperately wanted to know: Dean, the prick of an ex, was the only man in her life; and if habits betrayed a person then Willow wasn’t much changed from the girl she’d been, not underneath the harder layers life had given her.