Everything in her rejected that idea. Except, rationally speaking, objectively speaking, he was probably right. They were at a crossroads in their lives. His was especially complicated. He had more than himself to consider when making decisions about who to spend time with and how serious he wanted to be about it.
Even if she could get past the idea of tangling herself up with the extended Westlake clan, she had no idea how she felt about dating a single parent. She’d been so busy rejecting the idea of a relationship, she hadn’t seriously considered how his guardianship of his niece would affect anyone but Lilly—namely herself.
“I guess that means I need to stop holding you like this.” A bit of the humor that usually colored his words had edged in, but didn’t make it anywhere close to his eyes—which were still drinking her in.
But he didn’t straighten, didn’t slide his arm out from around her waist, didn’t step away. Instead, he brushed at the strands of hair on her forehead, traced a fingertip along her bottom lip, and made her tremble with a want so deep she didn’t know how to contain it . . . much less decide on whether she should act on it.
She didn’t want him to step away, didn’t want to lose the warmth of him, the strength of him. Didn’t want him to never look at her again the way he was looking at her.
“I could get lost in you, Kit Bellamy. Hell, maybe I already am.”
It was only when he let his hand fall to his side, and she felt him begin to loosen his hold on her, that she made a move. If she’d thought about it at all, she’d have lost her nerve and played it safe. And there was nothing safe about how Morgan made her feel. “Maybe I need to know, too.”
She pulled his head back down to hers and kissed him.
“Oh, thank God.” He was grinning as he kissed her back.
The kiss was different this time. Every bit as ardent, and the intensity was crazy . . . but that edge of do-or-die-trying had been replaced with the joy of discovery. And she was doing some of the discovering herself.
They broke apart when her phone chirped again . . . and then again, and they laughed, albeit a bit breathlessly.
“I think someone is trying to send me a message.”
“Hopefully it’s just about your inspection.” The light in his eyes was infectious, as was the devilish glint to his smile.
She smiled at that. “I do have to get over there. We’ve been waiting a week for him to get out here and approve the permits we need.”
“I know. I need to get back inside, too.” He loosened his arm around her waist, but slid his hands down her arms and took her hands in his. “I know this was just a kiss . . . but it wasn’t just a kiss. Was it?”
She shook her head. “No, but—”
“It’s not something to take lightly. I don’t.”
“I don’t know what I want,” she said, then laughed. “Well, there are a lot of things I want.” Her laughter faded, but her smile stayed as she looked up into his handsome face. “I just have to figure out if it’s something I should want right now.” He started to reply, but she stopped him. “I know I invited you and Lilly to Thanksgiving dinner, and my reasons for wanting you both there haven’t changed, but—”
“But, this complicates things,” he said. “Possibly a lot. I do understand, Kit. I do. I know—”
“I need to think, to really . . . consider . . . everything.”
He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “I know. And I want you to think about . . . everything. If you’d still like us to attend, I can talk it over with Lilly, and if I think she’s ready for it, we can be there . . . as your friends.”
She gave him a dry look. “Given the events of the past ten minutes, do you honestly think we could pull that off?”
He laughed outright. “See? That’s why I kissed you. Why I’ve been thinking about kissing you, pretty much since the day we met.”
“Why? Because I don’t pretend? Wait, you have?”
“God, yes.” He grinned.
She couldn’t help it, she grinned right back. Honestly, it was like they were two mischievous school kids, playing hooky and trying not to get caught.
“Well,” she said on a laugh. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way—”
He scooped her right back up against him again and bent his head down over hers. “Oh, it’s not even close to being out of the way.”
He made her pulse pound in the most delicious way. “I—you may have a point.”
He straightened again and let her go, but kept his hands on her arms. He was the tactile sort, she realized, but rather than feeling pushy or invasive, it felt . . . comforting, solid. He was that way with Lilly, too.
“Listen,” he said. “The holiday is just a few days away. Lilly and I will be fine on our own.”
“With kung pao turkey? And fried rice stuffing? I don’t know, Morgan—”
“I do. It’s a small island, and our paths are going to keep crossing. Better to figure out now what’s best, before involving anyone else.”
“It is a small island.” She sighed, because she knew he was right. “And though I already love them dearly, my new friends are not the types to sit back and just let nature take its course . . . or not. They’ll poke and prod. They already are. I wish it was less complicated. I just . . . want to be fair. To you. To me. To Lilly. I can’t jump first, and figure it out later.”
“Neither can I.” He slid his palms down her arms again, took her hands in his, and squeezed them. “Much as I want to. Thank you.”
“For?”
“Being honest. I probably shouldn’t have kissed you at all. Maybe neither of us is in a place where we can act like two unattached adults and let the chips fall where they may.” He gave a gentle tug on her hands, so she moved back up against him. “I’m just having a really hard time regretting a single second of it.”
He smiled, leaned down, and pressed a single, simple, sweet kiss on her mouth. “One for the road.”
It was the one that branded her. Not the deep, crazy primal kisses, but the sweet, honest one. Go figure. How was she supposed to think rationally when he kissed her like that?
“Yeah,” she said with a half smile.
He finally let her go for good and stepped back.
She couldn’t remember ever feeling so bereft. It was silly, but there was nothing funny about it. It took considerable willpower to remain standing by her car when he turned to walk back into the research center. “Morgan?”
With one hand on the center’s front door, he turned back.
“No regrets, either,” she said.
Her phone chirped again, making them smile. She lifted her hand in a short wave, and climbed into her car. She watched him go inside, then pulled out of the lot. “Except maybe letting you walk away,” she murmured under her breath.
Chapter 15
“Hi, Gabe, just checking—”
“She’s fine. She and Dre are coloring up a storm and writing a story about Donatello and Paddlefoot. Dre will bring her back by dinner. Don’t waste your alone time talking to me.”
“Right, right. I know. I just haven’t—” Morgan stopped himself. “I’m hanging up now.”
Gabe chuckled. “It gets easier.”
“You and Anne don’t have children.”
“We’ve had hundreds of them—in our classrooms. Speaking of which, I have some four-footed ones who need me. Now stop bugging me already.”
Morgan smiled, albeit somewhat sheepishly. “Yes, sir. And thanks. For letting Lilly and Dre hang out. And for the boot to the butt.” He hung up and steered his hybrid SUV into Sugarberry’s town square. Birdie had called him and asked to see him. Hence the babysitting setup.
Her home was a few blocks on the other side of the square, near the fishing docks. He pulled into the drive of the tidy little cottage, and spotted her in the open doorway, waving to him before he had the engine turned off.
“Thank you for coming, Morgan,” she said, welcoming him inside. “Care f
or some tea?”
Seeing that she already had the tea set up on the coffee table in her living room, he nodded. “Sure.”
He sat in one of the two chairs facing the davenport and the large picture window with a view of the front yard.
“I appreciate your coming by. I hope it wasn’t too much of a bother.”
“No, not at all.”
She fussed over tea and he took a moment to scan her place. The interior was as neat and tidy as the exterior, and decorated about the way he’d assume someone her age would have her home set up. Antique furniture, well kept, but showing its age. Hurricane lamps, throw rugs on the hardwood floors, and doilies. Lots of doilies.
What stood out were the framed prints on the walls. Interspersed among the traditional family photos in heavy old frames and a few oil paintings that had seen better days were a number of watercolor paintings, seascapes and beach scenes . . . of Sugarberry or the other islands, he presumed. Varying in size and style, they were clearly by the same artist. They begged a closer look, lending a certain serenity to the place that was a good balance to the contained energy Birdie seemed to carry with her at all times.
“Oh, please don’t mind my art,” she said, noticing where his attention was focused. “An old woman’s vanity.” She handed him his tea on a dainty saucer.
He took it, praying he didn’t break anything. The cup alone was rather lost in the palm of his hand, and the empty saucer felt like a fragile wafer. “They’re really beautiful. I was just thinking they add a nice, soothing ambience to your home.” He looked back at her. “Are you saying you painted them?”
She nodded and a blush stole into her cheeks, despite the deeply tanned, grooved skin she sported from a life spent on an island. “It’s a hobby I took up about five or six years ago.” She looked away then, busying herself with her tea.
It didn’t take Morgan any time to figure out that she’d taken up painting right about the time her only grandchild had been born—and removed from her life. “Did it help?” he asked gently.
She looked startled for a moment, then sighed. “Some.” She let out a short laugh. “Well, you can see how many there are, so maybe it was more the doing of it, than the result, that helped.” She sent him a smile topped by a sharp but kind gaze. “I figured it beat taking to the bottle.”
Morgan nodded, smiling in similar fashion. “Good point. Well, I think they’re lovely. Is that why you gave Lilly the paint book?”
“It was something I thought we might share in time. But not to worry if it’s not something she finds an interest in.”
Morgan didn’t want to tell her that Lilly hadn’t touched the paint book. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but felt it wasn’t right to lie, either. So he told her the truth as he saw it. “Do you know Dre, that young girl who works over at the cupcake shop part-time?”
“I do, indeed. Quite the artist, herself.”
“Yes, she is. She put together a journal for Lilly, filled with all kinds of turtle pictures and such, and they’ve been working on writing a story about a new resident we have out at the research center, so—”
Birdie laid her hand on Morgan’s arm. “Dear, there’s no need to explain if she hasn’t taken an interest in the painting book.” She smiled kindly. “It will be there for her if and when. I was just glad to get to meet her.”
Morgan’s heart squeezed, and he tamped down the anger over his mother’s high-handed machinations that had cost this lovely woman—and Lilly—so dearly. “Well, I hope that was just the first of many meetings to come.”
“That’s actually why I invited you here. I wanted to talk with you about possibly seeing my darling granddaughter again. I had been thinking about the upcoming holiday, but when our picnic didn’t turn out as well as hoped, I thought, perhaps, that wasn’t a good idea. I wasn’t certain of your plans, but my friend, Alva Liles, tells me you’ll be staying here on Sugarberry.”
“We will.” Morgan didn’t bother to wonder how a woman he’d yet to meet knew of his holiday plans. Small island. Then the name struck a chord. “She—Miss Alva—is one of the ladies who bakes over at the cupcake shop, right?” She must be a friend of Kit’s.
“Yes, dear. And that’s part of this, too. You see, I thought it might be too much to have a big meal here with just you and sweet little Miss Lilly, but Alva tells me they are having quite the feast over at Quinn and Riley’s place and have extended an invitation for me to join them.”
“That sounds nice.” Morgan had no idea how Birdie traditionally spent her holidays or if she had other relatives. He knew Delilah had been her only child, and though they hadn’t been in touch for a number of years, this holiday season would have to be hard for her, mourning the loss of her only child and any future chance at reconciliation.
“Alva tells me that darling Lilly has become friendly with several of the girls at the shop and she thought . . . well, there’s room for more, and . . .” Birdie’s quick chatter drifted off suddenly and her tea cup rattled on her knee.
Morgan steadied her by placing his hand on her arm. He set his cup and saucer aside, then took hers and set them on the table as well, before taking her hand in both of his. “Birdie, I know we haven’t spoken much, about . . . things. We’re both in mourning. Lilly, too.”
Her voice was rough with unshed tears. “Please don’t feel I’m pressuring—”
Morgan gently squeezed her hand, feeling his eyes burn a little. “No, I’m not saying that. At all. I’m saying that I want us to be a family. I know the timing is hard, with the holidays upon us, but make no mistake—I want you in Lilly’s life, in my life. Don’t apologize, ever, for wanting the same. I know your heart is in the right place and you want what’s best.”
She trembled a little and reached for a hankie she’d tucked into the edge of her sleeve. “You have no idea what that means to me,” she said, dabbing at her eyes.
“It means just as much to me. That’s why we came here, are making a home here.”
She nodded and seemed to get some of her lively spirit back. Another dab at her eyes, then she smiled. “I just thought . . . it might be a way for Lilly to enjoy the company of her new friends, a nice thing for you to have good company on the holiday, and a way to have me about without a forced one-on-one situation. That’s all. I know it’s just days away, but . . . would you think about it?”
Morgan could see how much it meant to her, and, were it not for the extenuating circumstances with Kit, he’d have been truly pleased with the invitation. He had thought a lot about it since she had asked him the day before and knew it would be a much better alternative to spending the day alone, just him and Lilly. He’d figured they’d spend it with the turtles, to distract Lilly, and maybe himself. But he’d much rather spend it with new neighbors and friends.
“I will,” he promised her. “I’ll talk with Lilly, feel her out a bit, and let you know as soon as I can.”
Birdie’s face lit up and she squeezed his hand with a great deal more force than he’d have assumed her capable of. “Oh, that’s just about the best thing I’ve heard in . . . well, in a very long time. And please, don’t concern yourself if you feel you need to say no. I’ll understand, I will. We’ll just figure something else out. But that you’re willing—”
“Birdie, of course I’m willing.”
She sighed, taking a moment to catch her breath and collect herself. “Of course, of course. It’s just taking some getting used to. I-I couldn’t be happier, Morgan, that you’ve come. You’ve given me such a gift. I don’t know that I can ever thank you enough.”
He stood and drew her up as well, then gave her a gentle hug. “We’re family, Birdie. We’re family.”
She nodded several times, then dabbed at her eyes again, too overcome with emotion to speak.
“I’ll talk with Lilly and give you a call. By tomorrow morning, at the latest.”
They said their good-byes, and Morgan was back in his SUV, heading toward the town square, tryi
ng to sort things out. He pulled up and parked in front of the bakery, thinking he needed to talk it over with Kit. Despite the Birdie connection, he and Lilly were the interlopers. He didn’t want to make Birdie happy, only to make Kit uncomfortable, and have Lilly in the middle of it all.
As for what he wanted . . . well, he wanted it all. That’s what he wanted.
What had happened with Kit the day before had dominated pretty much his every waking moment and had played a starring role in all of his sleeping ones. He had no idea where she stood on any of it, now that she’d had time to think things through. He’d planned to wait for her to contact him, allowing her to move at her own pace, and had assumed she’d let him know in some way regarding the holiday dinner invite, but he’d honestly figured it would be just him and Lilly.
Whatever had begun between him and Kit might be better pursued after the strain and external pressures of the holiday season were over. At least, that was the conclusion he’d drawn and what he’d been prepared to tell her when they spoke.
But with the invite from Birdie to the same dinner, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting any longer for an answer.
He went directly to the smaller building next to the bakery rather than ask after her at the bakery and alert anyone else to his presence. Not that he was sneaking about—no point in even trying that, plus he’d parked right out front—but no need to announce it, either.
The front door was propped open by a five-gallon paint bucket, and he could hear the sound of saws, hammering, and a radio blaring, so he didn’t bother knocking, but stepped over the paint bucket and ducked inside. Since no one was in the front space, he followed the sound of the radio. Winding around the ladders and draped tarps, he emerged into the back room, surprised to see only Kit. She was hammering away at a set of shelves, bopping her hips to the music on the radio. The buzzing of the saw was coming through the back screen door. Whoever else was working was out in the back parking lot.
He didn’t want to startle her while she was swinging a hammer, so he took unabashed advantage of the moment and simply watched her. She was wearing jeans that were old, worn, and fit her in a way that made him want to peel them right off her. The pale green Henley was soft and clung to her slight curves in all the right places. Her pretty red hair, a few ends tipped with cream-colored paint, stuck up in thatches around her head as if she’d raked her hands through it more than once. Splotches of the same cream color decorated her hands and her shirtsleeves, as well.
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