Fiona's Flame

by Rachael Herron

Abe leaped forward and over her. ‘Are you all right?’

  She looked up at him with a giggle. ‘That was fun. Let’s do it again.’ She rolled onto her back and her hands went to her fly again.

  Christ. Well, she did have to get out of those sopping clothes and at least down here no one was watching but him. He grabbed at her dripping hat, ignoring her weak protest.

  ‘Pants off,’ she muttered. ‘Pants …’ She pulled her jeans down over her hips, shucking her sodden black boots off at the same time. She wriggled sideways, and then said, ‘Off! We have success.’

  Her panties were a red slip of lace. The astonishment of finding this out struck Abe stupidly mute for a moment. He’d have laid good money on the bottoms being as utilitarian as her bra. But no.

  The other thing that made him feel as though a crab’s claw was stuck in his throat was her tattoo.

  Right at her hipbone, where her panties curved in and she curved out, she had an intricate snowflake, about two inches across. Icy lace, draped over her skin. It was about the last image he would have expected to find on her. A wrench, sure. A sports car like that green Alfa Romeo she drove. A cowboy hat, yeah. But a delicate blue snowflake?

  He tried to clear his throat and coughed instead. ‘Blanket,’ he managed. ‘Sit up here, on the couch. Come on.’ If she stood, he could get a dry blanket around her, or if she sat on the couch, he could at least drape a couple over her.

  ‘Where’s my hat?’

  ‘I put it on the couch. It’s wet. Let’s move you now.’

  ‘I like it here.’ She spread her arms over her head and looked up at him.

  Christ on a fishhook, Fiona was practically naked in the main salon of his boat.

  ‘Fine,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m just going to put these over you, okay?’

  ‘Good,’ she said, pulling the wool on top of her. ‘This is nice.’ Her eyes closed again. ‘So nice. Can I have a pillow?’

  He took one off the couch and put it under her head. She rolled to her side, sticking her bare foot out. Abe took another blanket and wrapped it around her legs. ‘You can’t be comfortable here, Fiona.’

  Sleepily, she said, ‘So comfortable.’

  Abe rocked back on his heels. What the hell was she on? The fall into the ocean should have woken her up. Should have made her shake all over. Instead, she was acting like she’d had three shots of Jack on an empty stomach. ‘Did you take something?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  Pills, maybe? Was she a closet drinker? He felt a strange, intense disappointment at the thought. ‘What was it? Tell me, Fiona.’

  ‘Just what you …’

  ‘What?’ He leaned closer. She smelled of wet wool and salt and something sweeter, a spicy floral scent.

  ‘That pill you gave me.’ She opened those big hazel eyes one more time and looked straight at him. Her gaze felt like a touch. ‘You have no idea what a huge crush I have on you, do you?’

  He laughed in surprise. That sure wasn’t what he’d been expecting. ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. Not love or anything.’ Her words weren’t slurred, but they were slow, and exceedingly deliberate, as if she was thinking about each syllable before she made the sound. ‘I don’t think it’s love, anyway. How would I know? But I know it’s lust.’ Fiona touched her bottom lip and pulled it down in what she might have thought was a sexual way but which actually read more like a drooly, teething puppy. Sure was cute, though.

  ‘Lust, huh?’

  ‘Hoo boy,’ she said, touching her cheek with her wet finger. ‘I’m just saying – if you were to take off your pants right now? I’d be in them like this.’ She attempted a snap, which came up more as a hand-flap.

  He gave a bark of laughter. ‘You’re just saying that because my pants are warm and you’re still cold.’

  ‘You’d warm me up.’ Her eyelids dropped seductively. And then they dropped farther, until they closed entirely. She pushed her cheek into the pillow and then gave a small snore.

  ‘Wow,’ he said. She was utterly surprising. Entirely. He hadn’t seen that one coming. And damn, she had a smokin’ hot little body underneath those clothes. A body he hadn’t thought to look at with wishful X-ray vision earlier.

  He was feeling something else about her, too. It took him a moment of staring at those long dark eyelashes to figure out exactly what it was.

  Curiosity.

  Abe hadn’t felt that particular emotion in so long he almost hadn’t recognized it. But there it was.

  And it felt … good.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Knitting is really just warm wrapping paper for people we love. – E. C.

  Abe and Zeke managed to get Fiona off the fishing boat and onto Abe’s houseboat with minimal fuss. She’d stood and walked, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her, but she’d babbled as she went, not making much sense. Something about the lighthouse and pencils? He’d made a quick call to Dr. Naomi Fontaine, who’d told him that it sounded like she was having an abnormally strong reaction to the motion sickness pill, and to bring her in to the office if she had any other symptoms. ‘Don’t worry, though, if she’s just sleepy. Keep her warm and let her sleep.’

  ‘What about hypothermia?’

  ‘Just look out for any skin color change. If she’s too pale or blue or starts shaking hard, call an ambulance. But she sounds okay. Keep an eye on her.’

  Three and a half nerve-wracking hours later, Fiona groaned.

  Abe dropped his book to the floor. ‘You all right?’

  A small sharp scream was his answer. ‘What the hell?’ Fiona lifted the blankets and looked under them. ‘What the bloody hell?’ She scrambled to a sitting position, dragging the blanket with her.

  ‘You passed out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The Dramamine, we think.’

  She groaned again and rubbed her face. ‘Am I still on the boat?’

  ‘A different one. I figured my houseboat would be better – at least you could be in bed. Ignore the mess.’ Abe laid his big green robe over the blankets and said, ‘The head – the bathroom – is that wooden sliding door there.’

  Fiona raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I already dried your clothes. They’re in there, too.’

  She peeked under the blankets again. ‘Turn around. Please.’

  He did, not bothering to point out that she’d already walked down two docks in nothing but a blanket and her panties.

  Behind him, she scuttled into the bathroom, clicking the lock behind her.

  While she was changing, he tried to make a little more order of the mess. He’d started while she was sleeping, but he’d wanted to be quiet, so hadn’t been able to do much. It was just so cluttered in here. He liked it this way – all his things close around him – but he knew it wasn’t what most people would think of as tidy. His few dishes were washed, but seldom put away. His antique fishing floats sat next to the ships-in-a-bottle his father had loved making. As a kid, Abe had sat next to his father for hundreds of hours as his dad used long tweezers to manipulate tiny pieces of balsa wood inside different bottles. His father had cursed as often as he sighed in satisfaction, and the sound of it, a sailor’s streak of blue words, most of which Abe didn’t even understand until he was of double-digit age, was comforting.

  Now he couldn’t get rid of a single ship in a single bottle.

  Abe still used his father’s favorite mug – an ancient, heavy pottery piece crafted to look like a sea monster with long green locks, grasping hands, and bugged-out eyes – to make the same hot chocolate. Made from hot water and white packages, with a dash of cinnamon, it stood up to any grandmother’s homemade chicken noodle soup for pure comfort. The handle of the mug was chipped, and Abe knew if he ever dropped it, even if it smashed into tiny bits, he’d take however long it took to glue it back together. Things were precious. Things were memories. You kept things to help you remember where you came from.

  Believing this didn’t stop him from looking around the cabin
and being aware that cozy wasn’t really the word any outsider would apply to the space. Cramped, maybe. Disorganized, certainly. It felt homey to him, but did he look like a hoarder to an outsider? It had been a while since he’d had a woman in his space.

  The bathroom door clattered. Shit. He hadn’t told her the secret of not closing it all the way. She’d never get out.

  ‘Abe?’ Her voice was tentative, and the door rattled again.

  ‘Hold the latch and lift the whole door upward a little. I’d do it from here but there’s no handle on this side.’

  Another few tries, and the door flew sideways, rolling into its storage pocket. His father had crafted the door, and like many things his father made, the idea was more durable than the execution.

  ‘Hi,’ she said softly.

  ‘Hi,’ he said back, surprised by how his voice croaked.

  She looked … amazing. How was that possible? She’d just fought off hypothermia – remembering which, he moved the spare chair closer to the small space heater – and her long brown hair was a crazy tangle. She wore no makeup that he could discern, and her face was still as white as a brand new, unscuffed buoy.

  And she was gorgeous. He felt something clash inside him, something that sounded like spoons hitting the floor.

  This was unexpected.

  ‘Sit,’ he stammered. ‘Get as close as you can to the heat.’

  In confusion, he turned to the stove, lighting the flame to heat the metal pot. Then he glanced at her again. ‘Hot chocolate okay? It’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘Fine. Great. Thanks.’ She wrapped her arms around her torso and leaned forward toward the warmth.

  An awkward silence filled the small space. Abe was intensely aware of every sound he made as he moved about the galley. She sniffed, and he offered her a handkerchief, his best red checkered one.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said again, and blew her nose. ‘I’ll wash it for you.’

  ‘Whatever.’ It came out as rude when he hadn’t meant it to. ‘It’s supposed to be used.’

  ‘I like handkerchiefs. I don’t think anyone has ever loaned me one before.’

  ‘Well, you’ve been hanging out with the wrong guys.’

  She simply nodded, pushing her hair over her shoulder. She held her hands toward the heater.

  Did she remember what she’d said to him?

  Fiona made a small sound like a hiccup. ‘I fell in the ocean?’

  The water was almost hot enough. If he stared at it hard enough, maybe it would boil faster. ‘You did.’

  ‘That kid, is he okay?’

  ‘Junior’s fine. He was pretty damn excited about his adventure.’

  Another noise. Oh, God, was she crying? He’d need more than a handkerchief to deal with that.

  Then she did it again. It wasn’t a sob. It was a laugh.

  Fiona was laughing.

  ‘I fell overboard! The first time I get on a boat in years, and I fall overboard! That pill! I knew about it and still took it. I’m a moron!’ She giggled, resting her elbows on her knees.

  ‘You could have died.’

  ‘But I didn’t!’ She laughed harder. ‘My mother always said I was such a klutz I could fall off a two-lane highway, and lord knows I trip over the concrete pad of the pumps on a weekly basis even though it’s eight inches high. But this! It’s a whole new level of klutz!’

  It wasn’t funny. Not to him. It couldn’t be funny to him, not after what he’d watched the ocean take from him.

  But damn it, as she lost herself in the giggle fit, he started to feel the corners of his mouth twitch. Okay, it wasn’t funny, but she was. The way she was flopped forward, laughing with her whole body … it was sexy and funny and it made him want to laugh, too.

  He focused on the hot chocolate instead. When she took a breath, suggesting the laughter had almost played out, he said, ‘There’s some cinnamon on top. You want marshmallows? Or something harder? A slug of brandy in it?’

  She looked up at him and smiled. A man would do a lot for a smile like that. ‘All of it?’

  ‘Yeah. Sure.’

  Their drinks doctored and laced, he sat on the couch next to her chair. ‘Bottoms up. Warm you from the inside out. You know. Liquor … and it’s warm …’ He was babbling again.

  Fiona took a sip and blinked hard.

  ‘Too strong?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just right. It’s the cure for what ails me. Eh. I guess that would be too much to hope for. I don’t think there’s a cure for terminal stupidity.’

  ‘Going out over the rail wasn’t very smart.’

  ‘I know. I didn’t think.’ She blew on the top of her chocolate. ‘I’ve gotten into a few pickles from not thinking, actually.’

  ‘Like what?’ The drink was sweet and strong. A little like the woman sitting in front of him.

  She took a sip. A tiny bit of chocolate clung to her upper lip. ‘Once I went backpacking by myself. Which would have been fine, except I forgot to tell anyone where I was going. And I ended up getting lost for two days.’

  ‘Holy crap.’

  Fiona shrugged. ‘When the search helicopter flew over, I signaled with the cup of my thermos, flashing sunlight off it. A good MacGyver moment. I got a wilderness patch from the search and rescue team.’ She brightened at the thought.

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Oh, there are too many to mention. Let’s just say I tend to leap before I look.’

  ‘It was brave of you to help Junior get back on the boat. And it was good of you.’

  Fiona frowned, as if she didn’t know how to process his words. She took a quick sip of her hot chocolate and sputtered as it went down the wrong way.

  Abe leaned back, the old brown fuzz of his father’s sofa scratching the back of his neck, as it always did. What was this new power she had over him? To make him feel tongue-tied every time her eyes met his? It was ridiculous.

  ‘Are you seeing anyone?’ His voice didn’t even sound like his own.

  Fiona jumped. ‘What?’

  ‘Boyfriend? I don’t think you’re married, but I don’t always get the gossip in town as fast as anyone else. Fact is, I hardly get any, since I refuse to listen to most of it.’

  She blinked. Her lashes were separated into clumps from her swim, as long as if she were wearing fake ones. Her eyes, he noticed, were deeply green, flecked with light brown, exactly the color of the algae in the tidal pools below the lighthouse. Not that she’d appreciate the analogy, most likely.

  ‘Well, most of the town gossip is crap.’

  Having no idea how to answer, Abe just waited.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m definitely not seeing anyone.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Abe. He took another sip of his hot chocolate. Maybe it was the brandy that had given him the courage to ask that insane question. It was waiting for the follow-up question, obviously. Will you go out with me?

  Instead he said, ‘So, you’ve really had a crush on me for years?’

  Fiona couldn’t have looked more surprised. Her eyebrows disappeared under her bangs and her mouth formed a small O. ‘Shmitterzop,’ she said. Or it was something like that.

  He smiled. ‘You wanna get a bite sometime? Maybe Friday?’

  ‘Me?’ she squeaked.

  Abe didn’t have any spare words left. He nodded.

  She looked deeply into her cup as though the answer were hidden there. Abe’s stomach jumped, and he rested his hand against the wall closest to him. Through the wood, he could feel the splashing below him, the slight sway of the tide’s dance. The houseboat creaked as it rubbed against its mooring. There was a thump from the deck above and then he heard Digit’s nails clicking as the old cat came downstairs.

  Fiona opened her mouth to answer and then looked at the animal. ‘Is that the cat you found in a mailbox?’ she asked.

  ‘How do you know where I found him?’ Incredulous, Abe wondered if gossip in Cypress Hollow was so prevalent that it even included pet stories.

&nbs
p; ‘He’s old now.’

  ‘Old. And just as crotchety.’ She was avoiding the fact that he’d just asked her out.

  She stuck out her fingers so Digit could sniff them. ‘Curious,’ she said.

  The cat and him both.

  ‘Careful. He’s terrible.’ Abe loved the old scruff, but Digit was an asshole. ‘If he starts to bite or swipes at you, move fast. Don’t let him get you.’ Once Digit’s claws were in something – anything – he didn’t let go till blood was pouring out of his target.

  ‘He’s just an old softie,’ Fiona said, her voice low.

  And sure enough, Digit was pushing against her hand, getting her to do exactly the right kind of chin rub. ‘He doesn’t like many people,’ Abe said. Or any people, really. Not even him half the time.

  Finally Fiona said, ‘You really want to go on another … not-date, like you said?’

  It was a strange question, oddly worded. ‘No. A real date.’

  ‘To talk more about the lighthouse?’

  He shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want to call it.’ Suddenly, he didn’t want to call it that at all.

  ‘What would we do?’

  ‘You pick,’ he said expansively. Didn’t matter to him.

  Her eyes lit, a brighter green. ‘Really? You like it there, too?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘U-Pick? Oh, you meant I should pick.’

  ‘I’m so confused.’ It dawned on him. ‘Are you talking about the scrap metal yard?’

  She laughed. ‘That’s not really a thing people do together, is it? I love it there … I just thought for a second … sorry.’

  ‘I’d love to go there.’ He was astonished to discover how true it was. He’d go to a quilt show with her. A banana museum. A retrospective of kitchen countertops.

  Fiona suddenly looked like a kid opening birthday gifts – excited and flushed. ‘I’ll plan it all. The … date. I love planning.’

  ‘Okay.’ He’d let her steer his boat into the channel if she asked, damn the wreck that would follow. Where was this coming from?

  Fiona nodded and fished out a marshmallow with her finger, sucking the foam off. Abe tried not to stare as he drank the last bit of his hot chocolate. It tasted sweeter than anything he’d ever had.