Second Chance in Paradise

by Jennifer Peel

  I leaned the crutches against the wall and balanced on one foot, using the wall as support.

  Porter handed me the bag and my purse. I’d allowed him to carry those. He watched as I dug my keys out. His expression had gone from brooding to doleful. I did my best to ignore him. Though his laser gaze made that difficult.

  I managed, through a series of breathing exercises, to stave off the pain enough to get the key in the lock. “Thank you for everything today. I’m sure you had better things to do.”

  “Not one thing comes to mind.” His voice was too alluring.

  I refused to make eye contact, though my myocardium was getting quite the workout. “Well, good night.” I reached for the crutches.

  He reached for me and made sure I had the support I needed. “Before I go, you need to answer one question for me.”

  Why must he touch me? My poor limbic system had had enough for the day. “Porter.” I met his furtive gaze. “Let’s just say goodbye.”

  “We will in a minute. First,” his crooked grin grew, “tell me how you knew about Honey and Skipper?”

  I dropped my keys. I had forgotten I blurted that piece of information out after my ungraceful exit and the subsequent injury that followed. My amygdala and I were going to have some serious words later.

  Porter’s smirk only grew. “You pretty little liar. You were totally checking me out online.”

  I went completely rigid. “Your mom could have told me about them,” I stuttered.

  He leaned in, stopping inches from my face. “I don’t think so.”

  “You can think what you want.”

  “You’re blushing.”

  “My ankle hurts and I’m tired.”

  He backed away, still holding me steady. “I’ll let you get some rest. But . . . Holland,” the serious edge returned to his voice, “don’t think because you saw some photos and posts that you’re getting the full picture.”

  I grabbed the crutches and escaped his grasp. “Your absence spoke louder than any picture.” I pushed my door open, trying to hide the crack in my voice.

  He didn’t get in my way this time. He only watched as I struggled to make it in. There was a pallid sheen to his countenance.

  I took one last look at him, meaning to tell him goodbye, but it got strangled in my throat. Instead, I stood mesmerized by his blue eyes. They were saying this was only the beginning. No. That couldn’t be. He’d vanished. And worse, he left me thinking that I wasn’t enough, like everyone else in my life up to that point had made me feel. But I had learned something these past several years. I was enough for me and me alone.

  I shut the door on him. Suddenly the pain in my ankle had nothing on the ache in my chest.

  It was better this way, I told myself. I’d dealt with everything that came my way, even the unspeakable things I saw at the hands of my parents, but I couldn’t bear once more to allow myself to love or to be loved.

  It was better to have a void than to be filled with a loss that not even seven and a half years could heal.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was a good thing I was used to living on little sleep. Between the pain in my foot and thoughts of Porter, I hardly slept. My appetite was zero as well. The only upside to being up so early was that I needed more time to get ready since I had to hop around on one foot. I knew the crutches would make my walk slow too.

  I needed my safe space. To put the bizarre events of the past weekend behind me. If only I hadn’t agreed to help Charlotte with her science project. Though I had to say I loved a good science project, and I had an idea that would involve lipstick. I would have to see what Charlotte thought.

  First, my trek to the lab. Or should I say, my death walk down the stairs. I think going down was worse than up. I was sure several times that I was going to be headed back to urgent care or worse, the morgue. I suppose that would take care of the whole can’t-stop-thinking-about-Porter problem. Knowing me, though, I would probably check in on him from above by accident. I was still cringing that not only did he know I lied to him, but that I had checked him out on social media, so much so, I could name his girlfriends.

  The only comfort I had was that he lived in California. And I think he got the hint yesterday that I wasn’t interested in making his predictions about us come true. Though last night, lying in my bed, I thought a lot about that night in the hammock. We’d swung in the warm night air, the gulf breeze making it comfortable. My head rested on his bare chest while he lightly stroked my arm with the tips of his fingers. The summer was waning. We would both be leaving for school in the coming days. I had asked him if he wanted to break up . . . again. Like I said, I could feel the distance. I’d squeezed my eyes tight, hoping he would say no and that I was only being insecure.

  He kissed my head. “I love you, Holland,” he’d replied. For a moment, I sighed with relief. But then I realized he never answered my question. His silence on the subject was deafening. There in his arms, a battle raged within me. I so desperately wanted to tell him that I loved him. I had been trying to work up the courage, but the unanswered question lingered. His next words made so much more sense now.

  “There is no time or distance that will ever change how I feel about you. Things may not go the way we would exactly like, but in the end, there will be an us. I promise. I can’t wait to be with Holland Reeves, PhD. I know you’re going to do great things.”

  Then he kissed me deeply, with a passion we had never shared before. I could still feel his hands in my hair and the way his tongue tangled with mine. The way our bodies melded together, making it hard to tell where his began and mine ended. But it did all end. I realize now he had been kissing me goodbye.

  I reached the bottom of the stairs, tired from the effort and from thoughts of Porter. I paused in the entryway to get my backpack situated properly and psyche myself up for the long, painful walk ahead. I also slid my pepper spray in my pocket. The first few streets were the rougher side of town. I’d seen my fair share of what I’m sure were drug deals and solicitations for prostitution taking place. I braced myself before semi hobbling out into the dark of morning and trying to gracefully get out the door without another injury or humiliation. Not that I was likely to be seen this early in the morning. The city was barely starting to come alive.

  The only people I could see were the owners of the little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop across the street with barred windows and the worst coffee ever getting ready for the day, and . . . and . . . Oh, no.

  Porter’s and my eyes locked. There he was smugly grinning, leaning against his truck in jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt with the logo of the resort he worked for.

  “What are you doing here?” I stammered from the top step of the entrance.

  “Only what I have to, darlin’.” He pushed off his truck and walked my way.

  “What does that mean?” The closer he got the shallower my breaths became.

  “You aren’t the only one who can be stubborn. I’m here to take you to school and wherever else you need to go.”

  For a moment, I stood stunned by his audacity and perhaps his thoughtfulness, but we had already been through this. “That’s ever so kind of you, but you should be with your family, helping them.”

  “They all agree this is exactly where I should be.”

  “Well,” I readied myself to make my descent, “they’re wrong.”

  He chuckled. “You’re sexy when you’re feisty.”

  There was nothing sexy about me. I was in a hoodie with damp hair in a messy bun. I didn’t even get any makeup on this morning. “Go home, Porter.”

  “No, ma’am. Your carriage awaits.” He waved his hand toward his truck, which looked like it had been washed. Even without sunlight the black paint shined.

  “I’m walking.”

  “If that’s what you want, but it’s going to be awkward when I follow you to school.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Not as awkward as when I call the police and tell them some stran
ge man in a black truck is following me.”

  His eyes danced with excitement. “I knew this was going to be a fun day.”

  I growled in frustration.

  “Just think about how much faster you could be saving the world if I drove you.” He faked an innocent smile.

  “I would have been a lot closer already if you weren’t here.”

  “You’re the one that keeps talking.” He gave me a wink.

  My lip involuntarily twitched. Stress induced, I’m sure.

  “Did you smile at me, Miss Holland?”

  I pressed my lips together. “No.”

  “Right.” His grin spelled out perfectly that I’d lied. “So are you ready to get to the lab?” His sincere blue eyes were imploring me. He took a step up the stairs when I didn’t answer. “You don’t want the breakfast Natalie made you go to waste, do you?”

  “I think I’m still full from the stuffed French toast.” A smile appeared on my face. I wasn’t happy about it.

  Porter took that as his invitation to take two more steps up the stairs. He was dangerously close. “I love that smile.”

  “I still don’t like you,” I whispered.

  “I know. I’m working on it. Now hand over your backpack.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. “Just this once.”

  “That’s a start.”

  My eyes popped open. “We aren’t starting anything, Porter Clairborne.”

  He laughed and reached for my backpack. “Like I said, today’s going to be fun.”

  “It’s only a five-minute drive.” I slid off my backpack and reluctantly handed it to him.

  He happily took the bag. “Would you like some assistance down the steps?”

  “I’ve got it, thank you.”

  If I could have rubbed my hands over my face I would have. This was most unexpected. I followed him to his truck. He rushed to open the door for me.

  “Thank you.”

  He held his hand out to help me in.

  I shook my head no. No ionic bonding today, or ever.

  “I guess we’ll save some fun for later.” He was delusional and unfazed by my rebuffing.

  I held my crutches and carefully climbed in his truck. “There will be no later.”

  Once I was situated with my crutches by my side, Porter leaned in. “You always looked good in the glow of my truck’s light.”

  I made the mistake of pushing against his pectorals to send the signal I wasn’t falling for his line. Instead, I was caught off guard how familiar it was. It was almost like a pianist’s muscle memory and their ability to play each note of their favorite song. My fingers remembered each of his muscles and the way they flexed.

  The memory of the first time I touched his chest began to play, right down to how nervous I felt. He had convinced me to swim with him at night in the Gulf; that in-and-of itself made me nervous. He’d promised to keep me safe. There we stood under the moonlight. The water lulling us. I had been mesmerized by him. How did he want me, the poor girl from the wrong town? He drew me closer to him. His bare skin was so close. “You don’t have to be shy around me.” He brushed my lips. I dared to reach out and touch his taut chest. When I did, his arrector pili muscles went to work. I blushed knowing I could cause such a reaction in him.

  I blushed now.

  Porter put his hand over mine, holding it fiercely against his chest. The bond was as strong as ever.

  “Did you know that, structurally, fingernails are modified hairs?” I said way too loudly, pulling my hand away.

  I don’t think he knew if he should be disappointed or amused by my outburst. On one hand he grinned, on the other he rubbed his chest where our hands had just been.

  His hand finally fell. “I didn’t know that.”

  I felt like such a dope. “It’s true.”

  “I missed your random facts. I always felt smarter when we were dating.” He shut the door and jogged around to the driver’s side.

  It was then I noticed how delicious it smelled in his truck. Cinnamon and coffee, good coffee, not the tar from across the street or the stuff I would sometimes get at the school if I was desperate for caffeine.

  Porter was all smiles when he got in. “That paper bag there is for you and the thermos in the console.”

  I stared at them both, uncomfortable. “Your mom didn’t need to do this. How early did she get up?”

  “Natalie made the coffee cake last night.” He gave me a wicked grin. “I made the coffee this morning around four.”

  “Porter, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but—”

  “Then don’t say anything.” His eyes drilled into mine. “Just know you aren’t alone.”

  “I am—”

  He put his finger on my lips. “There you go trying to say things again.”

  My pulmonary muscles ceased. I used to love the way his fingers felt on my lips. He would outline my lips with his finger, slow and steady, teasing me until he kissed me. I found myself longing for him to do that now. I leaned back, away from his finger, afraid of my thoughts.

  He got his wish. I was speechless.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I tapped my fingers on my desk. I couldn’t concentrate knowing he was sitting in the hall outside my lab. I ran our argument about it over and over in my head. Who did he think he was? I didn’t need a babysitter. I didn’t need him. He didn’t feel like it was safe for a woman to walk around campus in the dark by herself or be alone in a lab.

  Maybe he had a small point, but I’d taken a self-defense course and I carried pepper spray. He argued I was more vulnerable now, being injured. Perhaps there was a shred of truth to that claim. I didn’t mind chivalry per se, but I had no use for it.

  Just like I had no use for the delectable half-eaten piece of coffee cake sitting on my desk. I hadn’t tasted the coffee yet. A girl like me couldn’t get used to such luxuries. I didn’t have it in my budget to spend five to ten dollars a day on coffee. Water was good for you and free. The aroma of the coffee, though, was intoxicating, exactly like the maker of it.

  I rubbed my hands over my face. I was supposed to come back to the lab this week rid of my demons. Instead, he’d followed me with his MacBook and personal hot spot so he could work. I refused to let him in the lab. My excuse was Sharon had to give permission. Which was mostly true. She trusted my judgment enough that I could have easily let him in, but that would have shown poor judgment. My hope was that he would see how foolish he was acting and leave. Or that the tile floor would be so uncomfortable he would give up and go home. I mean, he could be working with an ocean view. And he needed to be home fixing things with his family and the Clairborne. He assured me he could do both from here.

  I sighed and pulled up some new research on genetic testing out of the Mayo Clinic while I simultaneously gave in and poured some of the coffee into the cup that acted as part of the lid of the thermos. My office smelled heavenly. The coffee itself was sinful; he had put butterscotch flavoring in it. Darn him for remembering how much I loved butterscotch.

  What was I going to do? This is where girlfriends would have come in handy. Maybe I should get some. Too bad Jaycee and George would be living in Paradise. George’s family owned one of the marinas there. Jaycee wanted to get together when she got back from her honeymoon. I did too, but here in Mobile. Surely Porter would be back in California by the time Jaycee got back. How long of a “break” could he take? And who would do all the ski resort’s vlogs with gorgeous, partially dressed women?

  I turned to my research and tried to immerse myself. I found myself reading sentences over and over again. A few times I almost got up to see if he was still there.

  Around eight, some of the undergrad students started filing in. From my office, I could see Anna and Elle whispering conspiratorially to each other and looking back toward the door. Infatuation was rolling off them. That answered whether Porter was still there.

  To make matters more interesting—or worse, depending on how you looked a
t it—ten minutes later, Sharon strolled in with a glow of mischief and an arrogant-looking Porter behind her.

  I grabbed my crutches and stood up as fast as I could, which was frustratingly slow since I had been propping my foot up on a chair. Once I was up, I stood stunned as I watched Sharon lead Porter to one of the lab benches closest to my office. There he took a seat on a stool and set up his MacBook while Sharon chatted with him. Then they both turned my way and waved at me with light-year-size smiles through the glass windows I was surrounded by.

  This wasn’t going to do.

  What did I do? I felt immobilized.

  Sharon and Porter laughed and talked like old friends for several minutes. I heard my name, but little else. This wasn’t good. I was about to go out there and ask Sharon for a ride home so Porter would see his services were no longer needed. Not that they were before, but I hadn’t been able to convince him of that yet. But I had a plan. Tomorrow, I’d get up earlier and sneak out the back entrance of my apartment building, which had probably seen its fair share of illegal activity, but it was the price I had to pay to ditch my ex-boyfriend.

  When I reached my door, Sharon was already there. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought someone gave her a multi-million-dollar project grant, that’s how happy she looked.

  She pushed her way right in. “Well,” her eyes darted toward my wrapped foot, “looks and sounds like you had quite the weekend.”

  I glared at a smirking Porter through the window before I decided I might as well be sitting for this conversation. “You could say that.”

  She laughed while placing the chair I was using to prop up my foot in a good spot. “You never mentioned Porter.”

  “Why would I?”

  She stood up straight and gazed out the window at him, fanning herself. “He is a fine specimen.”

  “Remember Mel, your husband?”

  She tore herself away from Porter and focused back on me, waving her hand. “Nothing wrong with admiring.”

  “Right. By the way, I’ll get Andie’s dress dry cleaned and back to you as soon as I can.”