Where Your Heart Is (Lilac Bay Book 1)

by Rachel Schurig

  “Don’t look at me,” Cora barked. “I’m not the one giggling by the window like a little girl.”

  “You just had to invite the Libbies, didn’t you?” He shot a look in my direction.

  “Um, pretty sure you can blame Posey for that,” I shot back.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Libby called from her patch of wallpaper, “the actual Libby is working her ass off over here.”

  “And that’s only one of the many reasons why we love you,” Zane said, sweeping into the room and planting a kiss on her cheek as he passed. “Ladies! Ladies, come on. Let’s get a bit of work done, and I promise I’ll make you another pitcher of mojitos.”

  “Sure thing, Zane!” Jill called, jumping right up and grabbing her scraper. The rest of the women followed.

  “Figures,” I said. “They’ll listen to you.”

  “It’s all in the attitude, dear,” he told me, picking up a scraper and joining me.

  “That and the fact that every woman on this island is half in love with you,” Cora said. “It’s such a damn shame you’re gay.”

  “Sweetie, you’d be the first I’d call if I weren’t.” He blew her a kiss, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Have you always been this big of a flirt?”

  He grinned at me. “Hey, it got them back to work, didn’t it?”

  “That probably has more to do with the fact that the boys are coming inside now,” Posey pointed out. Sure enough, only a few minutes later, both David and Andrew appeared in the doorway. Andrew was taking a swig from an ice-cold beer, and David was using the neck of his T-shirt to wipe some sweat from his eyes. A murmur of appreciation flowed through the room as his action revealed a strip of skin just above his low-slung jeans. I would have rolled my eyes—if he didn’t look so damn good doing it.

  “Hey there, David,” Jill called in her sultriest voice. Which was to say, her normal voice. The woman could have been a sex-phone operator with that purr of hers. “Get a lot of work done?”

  “We did,” he said politely, his eyes sliding right past her to find mine. I knew it was immature to feel a little thrill at that, but maturity is totally overrated.

  “You about ready?” he asked, and I could practically feel the heat of half a dozen glares on the back of my head.

  “Just about.” I tried to hide my grin, tried to remind myself that this wasn’t a date, not at all, just two friends hanging out. But I still had to duck my head, not wanting the girls—or David—to see my face.

  “Iris, Iris,” Zane tsked next to me. “You’re just as bad as the rest of them, aren’t you?”

  “Shut up, Zane.”

  “Not that I can blame you,” he continued. “He is pretty yummy. Especially in those jeans.”

  “I’m going to tell Eddie,” I warned.

  “Like he doesn’t know how hot David Jenkins is,” Zane shot back. “The boy has eyes, doesn’t he?”

  There was no point in arguing. David always looked good, but physical-labor David was a whole different level. Which was only one of the reasons I was excited to be getting out of the restaurant for the rest of the afternoon—less temptation that way. On the other hand, being alone with him provided an entirely different set of challenges in the temptation department.

  “Here, Eddie,” I called to my cousin, holding up my scraper. “You can take my spot by your man.”

  “And just where are you going?” Cora asked.

  “David and I have some errands to run,” I told her, knowing that all of the other Libbies were listening. “For the café.”

  “That’s right,” he agreed, shooting me the barest of winks. Again with the immature little thrill. I was going to have to do something about that. I was, after all, not sixteen anymore.

  “I’ll see you later,” I told Posey as I passed.

  “Mmm hmm.” She was grinning, and I had a feeling she in no way bought my excuse about errands for the café.

  “I’ll follow up with the Tribune when I get home,” I told Edward, feeling a teensy bit guilty about leaving when there was still so much work to be done. Then again, I was here all the time, not to mention all the work I was doing from home, working on the press release, lining up coverage from the mainland, trying to build up as much promo for the opening as possible on such short notice. I deserved a little break, didn’t I?

  “Sure, leave me with the Libbies,” he muttered, but he winked as I passed, and I knew he wasn’t really mad. Besides, with David off the premises, I had a feeling their productivity was about to shoot up.

  I followed David down the stairs to the sounds of Sherry and Jill wolf whistling at the view afforded by his retreat.

  “Those women are a menace,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Oh, come on, you can hardly blame them,” I said. “You can’t swan around in those jeans, looking all buff, using power tools and everything, and expect them not to react.”

  He held open the front door, looking down at me as I passed. “You think I look buff?”

  I rolled my eyes, but I could feel my cheeks getting pinker. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did. You just said—”

  “They think you look buff.”

  “Sure, Iris.”

  It’s so nice, I thought to myself as we headed down Main Street toward the water. To be pleasant with each other, instead of all of that scowling and grumpiness from my first week here. It was almost like… well, it was almost like flirting. But that was a dangerous thought, wasn’t it? That David might be flirting with me. There was no way that thinking like that was going to lead to anything good.

  “It’s a nice day,” David said as we approached the marina. “Water should be a little warmer, I bet.” He shot me a quick glance. “Little windy, though. Might be more waves this time.”

  I swallowed, trying to banish the chills that threatened to run down my arms. Waves are no big deal, I reminded myself. You’ve endured the waves before. David’s boat is safe.

  “That’s good,” he said softly as we walked down onto the dock. “You’re getting much better at keeping yourself relaxed.”

  “Well, that’s the point of all of this, isn’t it?”

  “I am a pretty good teacher.”

  “I see your ego is really healthy today.”

  He laughed, reaching out a hand to help me jump over the side of the boat before following me in. We both set to work on the lines immediately. I knew the routine of getting the boat out onto the water now, no longer needing his directions. Once we had the boat untied, David started the engine, and we were off.

  I wouldn’t say that I enjoyed being out on the water. But I didn’t hate it with the passion I had when I first arrived. There were probably lots of reasons for that—exposure being a big one. In the past three weeks, I had been on this boat nearly every day. Sometimes, it was for a quick trip to the mainland to get supplies for the restaurant. Sometimes, it was for a leisurely ride around the island. And sometimes, it was for our project.

  That’s right. David and I had a project. Just the two of us. And that, right there, was probably the biggest reason for my increasing comfort on the water. Plus, the project gave me an excuse to hang with David all by myself. Maybe that was pathetic, but I didn’t really care. I was coming to look forward to these hours out on the bay, despite the fear that still hung around the periphery of my consciousness.

  I leaned back in my chair, letting the sun warm my face, trying to ignore the waves that David had predicted. I could definitely feel them, now that we were out of the harbor. My stomach rolled a little bit as a particularly big one crashed against the side of the boat. Before I could grip my seat, David reached over and took my hand. The way he always did when he sensed the fear might be closing in. Immediately, I felt better.

  “Almost there,” he told me in that soft, calm way of his. I opened my eyes to see that we were nearing Blackbeard’s Cove. “Waves should be nonexistent in there.”

  He was right. That was the re
ason we had chosen this place, after all. Because it was protected from the elements of the bay, calm and clear. And shallow. The perfect place for a waterphobe like me to finally learn how to swim.

  “You want to steer?” he asked as he began to maneuver the boat into the cove.

  “Let’s worry about one thing at a time, okay?”

  “You’ll be a pro in no time,” he assured me, and I tried to hide my smile at the confidence in his voice. He wasn’t just bullshitting me. David honestly thought I had it in me.

  As David dealt with the anchor, I stood and pulled off my lifejacket before slipping out of my shorts and T-shirt. There was a crash behind me, and I looked over my shoulder to see David rubbing his ankle, his eyes glued to my back. “You okay?” I asked.

  “Uh huh,” he muttered, his voice low and a tad raspy. “Just bumped the uh, thing there. The chair.”

  On closer inspection, his eyes were focused slightly lower than my back. My stomach dipped dangerously. Had he walked into the seat because he was watching me? I turned back to what I was doing, folding my clothes and placing them carefully on my chair, trying to keep from blushing. I would have to thank Posey for the bikini. I’d had to secretly borrow a few suits from her apartment, not having brought any with me since I had never imagined I would actually be swimming on this trip. The bikini had been a bit of a gamble—my cousin was a little smaller than I was in the chest department—but I’d grabbed it that morning on a whim, telling myself it wouldn’t matter. After all, we always wore wetsuits in the water, it being early June in Northern Michigan and all. But I had to admit that there was a part of me that secretly hoped that the little red scraps of fabric would still make an impression.

  I turned around to get my wetsuit from the storage trunk under the front seat and saw that David was still standing at the back of the boat, watching me. “David? You gonna get ready?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure. Sorry.”

  I couldn’t help grinning.

  But then David pulled off his shirt and my grin changed to what I was sure was a very attractive slack-jawed gape. David clearly spent a lot of time outside with his shirt off. Probably doing some kind of physical labor, if the muscles I couldn’t keep my eyes off of were any indication. His chest was tanned, sculpted, and covered with a smattering of blond hair. Completely gape-worthy. If the Libbies girls could see him now.

  “Iris?” he asked, and he was the one grinning now, looking pretty smug in fact. “You gonna put on your wetsuit?”

  “Yup,” I replied, a little too loudly, nearly bashing my own ankle on the base of my seat as I turned to get into my suit.

  We didn’t make a lot of eye contact as we got ready, which I was grateful for. It was safer that way, seeing as how I was pretty sure I would have a hard time keeping my hands to myself if I had to see him with his shirt off for another second. Once we were safely enveloped in our wet suits, we made our way to the platform.

  “I’ll get in first,” David said, and I knew exactly what he had in mind. I swallowed, trying to banish the fear, all thoughts of his amazing body and his reaction to my bikini disappearing at once. You can touch the bottom, I reminded myself. Just as I feared, once David had slipped into the water, he took a few steps out away from the boat and looked up at me expectantly. “Why don’t you give jumping a try?”

  The first few times we had done this, I’d clung to the ladder of the boat as I made my way down into the water, making what should have been a ten-second descent last more like ten minutes. I’d gotten better on the ladder over the last few weeks and now, apparently, David thought it was time for me to abandon it all together.

  “What if my head goes under?” I asked, feeling a little panic.

  “It won’t.”

  “What if it does?”

  “It won’t.”

  “But—”

  “Iris. I’m standing right here. You’re going to jump, your feet are going to hit the bottom—which is sandy and soft, remember—and your head isn’t going to get anywhere near the water. Okay?”

  “But you’ll pull me up if I do?” I asked, hearing how high pitched my voice had gotten.

  David smiled up at me. “Why do you think I got in first?”

  I took a deep breath, trying to be comforted by the fact that he was waiting there in the water for me. You can do this. You can jump.

  “Iris,” he said, his voice taking on that calm, compelling tone that always brought my gaze right to his face. His eyes were focused on me. Reassuring. “It’s going to be fine. I’m right here.”

  That was pretty much all I needed to hear. I closed my eyes, took a huge breath, and jumped. Just as David said, my feet hit the sandy bottom, and I was able to stand immediately, the water reaching no farther than my shoulders. My hair, gathered up in a bun at the back of my neck, didn’t even get wet.

  “You got this,” he said, the approval in his voice making me feel inordinately proud of myself. “Let’s walk a little.”

  This is how David liked to start every lesson. We would walk through the water, our heads bobbing above the surface, and talk about everything we saw. He would point out the various birds in the trees surrounding the cove; I would exclaim over the different fish flitting around our legs. Once he could tell I was comfortable—in other words, once I stopped hyperventilating—he would begin the lesson.

  “I think we should get your face in the water today,” he said.

  “No.” The word was out of my mouth before he even finished his sentence.

  “Iris—”

  “I’m not doing that, David. Not yet.”

  He grinned, water lapping up onto his neck. “It was worth a try. Okay, you want to watch me first?”

  “Sure.” I tried to keep my voice casual so he wouldn’t guess just how much I liked watching him swim. Or do anything, really. But swimming was a particular delight. David Jenkins was an excellent swimmer. His long legs propelled him through the water while his powerful arms worked to pull him along, his entire body fluid and sleek. He’d told me that when it got a little warmer, we’d be able to tackle Lake Michigan without the wet suits, and the thought of watching him swim like that, without the cover of yards of neoprene, made me feel lightheaded.

  David swam across the little cove, over to the far side where he used the rock to push off and come back in my direction. When he got close, he dove under, and a few seconds later, his feet came up out of the water. A handstand. He’s showing off, a little voice in my head whispered. For you.

  When he surfaced, he was only a foot away, close enough for me to see the individual water droplets clinging to his face. He was grinning, his face boyish, and at that moment, he looked a lot like that sixteen-year-old guy I’d loved all those years ago.

  Suddenly, I wanted to kiss him.

  “You ready to try?”

  “Sure,” I squeaked. Okay, get your head in the game, Iris. Stop thinking about kissing. And about the droplets of water glistening on his perfect, tanned face with the little bit of stubble and—no! Stop!

  Why did he have to be so damn good looking? It was getting harder and harder to ignore these feelings. When David had first suggested he’d teach me how to swim as a means of tackling my phobia, I thought he was insane. Me, get in the water? I couldn’t even stand to get near the water. But he had been persistent, promising me we would build up to the swimming part. And he’d been true to his word. David’s method of getting me acclimated to the water involved taking walks by the shoreline, barefoot, letting the freezing cold waves lap up over my toes. He had talked to me constantly, asking me to describe how the rocks felt beneath my feet, reminding me of the solidity of the ground holding me up, despite the water. We’d spent more time on the boat, as well, traveling around the island. Slowly, I acquiesced to leaving the shoreline of the island farther and farther behind. He’d even taught me how to drive the boat—an activity that remained firmly in the terrifying column. And eventually, he’d gotten me into the water, after much pleadin
g, coddling, bribing, and convincing.

  Through it all, he’d been perfect. Patient, funny, kind, distracting. Only getting frustrated with me on very rare occasions. (To his credit, I had cut off all the circulation in his hand clinging to it that day. I would have been frustrated myself.)

  So if I thought spending more time with him was going to ease the growing feelings in my chest, I was mistaken. Our lessons had the opposite effect, in fact. Rather than getting used to being around David, my heart had decided he was actually just as perfect as he had been all those years ago, if a little more grumpy these days.

  “That’s excellent, Iris!” he called, pulling me back from my thoughts. I looked up from my awkward little doggy paddle and turned back to see that I had swum a good twenty feet ahead of him, much farther away than I had ever ventured before. I usually insisted on staying right next to him, close enough to grab and cut off his circulation all over again if an emergency struck.

  But now David was standing far behind me, not right next to me. I waited for the panic to flare, shocked when it remained dormant. I can touch, I reminded myself. And David could get to me if he needed to.

  A rush of something like excitement ran through me. I was swimming! And I was swimming on my own, without a hand to hold. I was doing it! Instead of turning back to David, I turned around and swam a little farther away, relishing in the sound of David’s excited whoop behind me.

  It was our best lesson yet. We swam for a good twenty minutes, sometimes together, sometimes separately, me feeling braver and braver on my own. When David called me back to the boat for lunch, the pride in his eyes set my entire chest aflame with joy. I was doing it! And he was proud of me!

  We sat on the platform in our wetsuits and attacked the picnic lunch David had packed from the café, our legs dangling in the water.

  “You’re going to be swimming freestyle in no time,” he told me, a trifle smugly.