He brushed off the seat with a napkin from the bag.
Fiona smiled. This wasn’t so bad. This used to be her favorite place when they lived here. Even in storms she’d liked to sit out here, bundled in sweaters until her father pulled her in, soaking and shivering, when the lightning started to dance on the water’s horizon.
Out here, Abe’s face relaxed, as though getting this close to the water did something to him. Maybe being on the water for him was like being under a car for her. Fiona could see him breathing deeply, his ribcage expanding, his shoulders dropping. She took her own deep pull of salt-tinged air into her lungs.
This wasn’t bad.
She hadn’t done anything completely embarrassing. Yet.
And she’d just keep her back to the lighthouse.
‘Sorry,’ he said with a chagrined look. ‘I think it’ll take more than a napkin to get this seat actually clean.’
‘You might not have noticed I just shimmied out from under a classic Thunderbird. I’m not fussy.’ She sat. The ground beneath the bench had been eroded by years of people kicking their feet, and her black cowboy boots didn’t touch the ground. ‘I’ve sat on worse. Yesterday, in fact.’
They ate. Fiona felt Abe looking at her but she kept her gaze on the tallest rock poking out of the water. She couldn’t quite make out all its lines in the dark, but the blackness where it rose from the water made it seem as though the ocean – just there – was deeper and matte, as though it had taken a breath and sucked in the light. The auto-strobe light flashed exactly as it had for years and years now from the next spit of land, illuminating the rock so brightly that it hurt her eyes for a split second before they were plunged into darkness again.
‘Not even the light from the lighthouse comes on anymore,’ said Fiona.
Abe nodded. ‘I hate that. It’s what I loved the most about it. What my father loved the most, too.’
Fiona finished the last bite of her hot dog, making sure she didn’t miss a speck of the mustard on her fingers. Whoops. Maybe you didn’t lick your fingers clean on a date. It probably wasn’t what the cool kids did. Was he judging her? She wriggled on the bench, feeling the weight of his gaze. What was he seeing? It was dark. Even if she’d dropped a glob of mustard on her shirt, he wouldn’t be able to see it, so what was he staring at?
Self-consciously, she pushed her hair over her shoulder. ‘Why?’ she said.
As though he’d forgotten that he’d spoken last, Abe said, ‘What? Oh, the light.’
‘Why did you love it? It was so … nosy. Poking its way into every house, every boat.’ The only place the light hadn’t illuminated was the small house at the base of the light, where Fiona had lived for those few years.
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘In the dark, it was like a friend.’
Not in Fiona’s house. Her mother Bunny had hated the light from the very first day they moved in.
‘It was like a nightlight,’ he continued, ‘except you could only see your way around the room in flashes. I used to navigate through the house like that while my parents slept. I used to play a game where I could only move when it was dark, and I had to make it certain distances before the light went on again. From the bed to the door jamb. From there to the piano. Getting from the piano to the kitchen was the hardest part because you had to cross through the living room, but I could just make it.’
Fiona’s legs swung over the sandy dirt below. ‘No siblings?’ She knew he didn’t have any. It felt like a lie to ask. She was aware of so many things about him, and he knew so little about her. It was cheating.
‘I had a sister.’
She stilled her leg, and tucked the hot dog wrapper carefully into a space between the slats to keep safe until she could throw it away. She took a moment to push it deep, so that the wind wouldn’t steal it. ‘You did?’
‘She died when she was six months old.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘Her name was Marina.’
She wanted to touch him reassuringly, but how did one do that? She kept her hand still, instead. ‘How did she die?’
‘No one ever knew. My mother went to get her up one morning, and she was dead. They called it SIDS, but we learned that year that SIDS just means the doctors have no fucking idea why the baby died.’
‘I didn’t know.’ The words were so small, so ineffective.
‘How could you?’ Abe stretched his arms out in front of him, and then lowered them to rest on the bench behind them. It didn’t seem as though he even knew he’d done it. He probably didn’t notice that his arm was now touching her upper shoulders, resting against her with the slightest pressure, a warm comfort. ‘I was a kid. I barely knew what was going on.’
‘Your poor mother.’
He nodded. ‘My poor parents. My dad took it hard, too. I know he loved me, but he’d been so excited about having a little girl.’ A long, lead-weighted pause fell between them.
Fiona didn’t know what to say. She racked her brain for the right condolence and couldn’t find it.
Abe said, ‘What about you? We don’t know much about each other, for people living in the same town, huh?’
On winter days, you wear a denim jacket lined with sheepskin. There’s a hole in the right elbow. In the summer you like blue t-shirts emblazoned with the Rite Spot, the ones Jonas gave away to everyone three years ago for free. Your truck makes a signature pop-brrrsh noise when it comes around the south curve right before the station. Your eyes get sadder as night approaches, like sleep is someplace you don’t want to go.
‘Only child,’ Fiona said.
‘Ah. Spoiled?’
‘No way. My mother was the spoiled one.’
‘Was?’
‘She …’ Fiona never knew how to say exactly what had happened. ‘She left. A long time ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Another flash of the auto-beam lit his face, and he looked sorry. As if he got it, somehow. He’d lost his father, of course, so maybe he did.
‘Me, too.’
A pause. From below came the mournful sound of a lone sea lion barking, echoing against the rocks and then out to sea.
‘Marina, huh?’ Fiona wanted to move closer to him.
She didn’t.
But she wanted to.
A low laugh. ‘Marina Anemone. My father was pretty adamant that my mother got to be in charge of everything child-related except our names.’
‘I get Marina. But Abe?’
‘Uh-uh.’
Fiona swung her legs up and twisted at the waist so she was half-facing him. When the beam hit the side of his face again, his clear blue eyes looked almost transparent. ‘Tell me.’
‘No way.’
‘Please? I hate not knowing a secret.’ Her voice was flirtatious now, she knew it, and she was almost embarrassed at herself. Daisy would be thrilled if she knew. The very thought alarmed her.
And it excited her, too.
Abe’s mouth twisted. ‘God, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’ He paused. ‘Abalone.’
Fiona’s mouth dropped. ‘Abalone Atwell.’
‘He loved a good mollusk. I was lucky not to be named Limpet or Conch or something even worse. Stop laughing.’
But she couldn’t. Abalone. It was so not him. It was a pearlized name, the name of a polished ashtray lined up next to the Cypress Hollow sweatshirts the tchotchke shops sold to tourists along Main Street. ‘God, I’m sorry.’ She laughed again. ‘I’m so sorry. But … middle name?’
‘Grunion.’
Fiona lost it then. She couldn’t help it.
Abe waited for Fiona’s laughter to die down, leaning backward, a resigned look on his face. Finally, he said, ‘Yep. It always brings the house down.’
On a giggle, she said it out loud, to test it. ‘Abalone Grunion Atwell.’ Oh, it was just too much.
‘Used to be worse when I got carded. You wouldn’t believe what a bartender can do with that name.’
Fiona loved the way her cheeks hurt with the grin
that was splitting her face. It felt good to be sitting here with him. Right now.
‘So,’ Abe said, ‘in an obvious and desperate bid to change the subject, were you and your mother close? Before she left?’
The laugh died at the back of her throat. ‘Oh. No.’
‘Why not?’
And in a moment that swung quickly from levity to seriousness, a moment that actually felt comfortable, Fiona was tempted, right then and there, to tell him about Bunny. And she never talked about Bunny. To anyone. Fiona tilted her head to clear her thoughts and shook out her fingers to stop them from twitching. She shouldn’t trust this feeling. ‘I wish we had been.’ There. She could leave it at that.
Abe didn’t push it.
And the fact that he didn’t, that he took his arm back and stood easily, taking their trash and tossing it in the trashcan, made her comfortable in her skin again.
She was still on a date with Abe Atwell. A shiver danced down her spine, trailing silver sparks. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the dimness, or maybe the moon was reflecting better against the water, because she could see him now. She could see him clearly.
And that simple fact gave another delicious shiver that reached into her with a low throb.
Abe looked right at her, and stretched out his hand. ‘Wanna spelunk, Snowflake?’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Knitters get things done. – E. C.
Fiona’s hand froze in his. Abe watched as she went from flirty – which was adorable – to stiff as a frozen cod.
‘What?’
‘Come on,’ he tugged her hand. ‘I know you’ve been down here. But how long has it been?’
‘Did you just call me Snowflake?’
Abe tightened his grasp on her hand. She wasn’t pulling it back but he sensed she might, any minute. ‘Maybe?’
‘Because you saw the tattoo on my hip.’
‘Yep. Nice placement, by the way.’
‘Fizzshoop.’ A funny little stomp accompanied her bizarre word. ‘At – at! It’s at my bikini line.’
‘But not under it! I didn’t see anything illegal, I swear.’ Abe took a step closer. They were inches apart. He should stop talking about the tattoo, but damn it, now it was all he could think about. ‘It’s perfect where it is. Like lace.’
Fiona closed her eyes.
He gave her a moment, running his thumb softly against the back of her hand again. She shivered.
Then she smiled. ‘I’m just going to ignore that whole last exchange. Let’s go to the caves.’
Abe realized he liked it – maybe too much – when she blew that inner fuse and made up words. It was his new goal to make that happen more often.
Also, to see that tattoo again.
Fiona’s hand in his was perfect. She was small, so of course her hand was, too, but it was strong. Her palms were so soft, but her fingertips were callused. And Jesus, that was sexy. A woman who used her hands to work. As they carefully went down the steps, Abe counseled himself to breathe. To get over these teenaged jitters that were running through him.
Taking her down the path was such a cliché he was almost ashamed of himself. What Cypress Hollow boy didn’t try to get a girl down in the caves on Moonglass Beach? So many kisses had been stolen, so many trysts. More than one romance had been consummated down there, he knew, and more than one lovers’ spat had been witnessed by the tides that chased the more timorous to higher ground. But he wasn’t a kid. And Fiona wasn’t anything he’d thought she was.
Honestly, he hadn’t thought about her much. Ever, really. So everything was surprising.
Now he wanted to lead her down the steep steps, one at a time, holding tight to her hand so she didn’t fall. He hadn’t held a woman’s hand here since the last time he led Rayna down here. Rayna had dumped him at twenty-five, so it had to be at least eleven years. Since then, if he’d held a woman’s hand at all, it hadn’t been for long – and never on the sand.
And now he was taking Fiona down to the caves to kiss her.
Hell, yes he was.
And nothing more. He didn’t let his mind go past that moment. Fiona wasn’t the kind of girl you took home just for a night. She was a Cypress Hollow girl, through and through. You didn’t mess with a local, he’d learned that the hard way. Tourists were for bedding, for one-night-stands.
The thing was, Abe had no idea what he wanted Fiona to be, besides in his arms, the sooner the better.
At the bottom of the old concrete and iron steps, Fiona tumbled past him, loosing his hand as she scampered across the pebbled shore to the water’s edge. She bent at the waist and picked up a stone. She looked over the shoulder of her pink-and-white plaid shirt. The moonlight was just bright enough now against the water that he could see her wide, joyous grin.
‘I can skip a stone farther than you can.’
‘You sure about that? Challenge accepted.’ No one was better at skipping stones than he was. How many hours had he spent on the beach as his father fished from the tide pools? While his dad trolled for the elusive, monkey-faced eel, Abe would find the best, flattest, roundest stones and spend full afternoons adjusting his angle, his pitch, the tilt of his arm. Once he’d counted seventeen skips, which had to be a world record of some kind.
‘Ladies first,’ he said, feeling through the rocks at his feet. He didn’t even have to look to find the best stones. It was as though they jumped into his hand, ready to soar. Maybe he’d go easy on her. Throw a gimme or two before he sent his best sailing.
‘Okay then. Read ’em and weep.’ Fiona brought her arm back, her wrist at – he had to admit – the perfect angle, and let fly.
Damned rock skipped so many times he couldn’t even count. ‘Shit.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s a gift. What can I say?’
Twenty minutes and at least fifty stones later, he admitted it. He had to. ‘You’re better than I am.’
‘Thanks,’ she said simply.
They both looked down in the bright white moonlight. They both reached for the same stone.
She was so close now that if he’d wanted to, he could wrap his arm around her waist and draw her close. He could put his lips against her laughing ones.
And then what? Jesus, then what? Abe was no rookie. Far from it. But being around Fiona made him feel like he’d never even set foot in the game.
‘Race you to the cave.’ On a breathless laugh, Fiona wheeled and ran.
She had a head start, and she was fast. Faster than she should have been with legs half the length of his. But even though she had the element of surprise, Abe grabbed back his breath and lit out after her.
He wanted to catch her. He wanted to reel her in, and then …
As he chased her laughter through the moonlight, he realized he only had one thing in mind.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Once is not enough to knit a pattern that sings the whole way to completion. Once is too many times to knit a pattern that has no rhythm at all. – E. C.
Fiona, like every Cypress Hollow girl, knew the cave at Moonglass Beach like the back of her hand. Judd Parsons had been her first kiss – he’d led her into the beer bottle side of the cavern and then stuck his tongue in her mouth where he let it flop around like a dying fish. She’d sworn off kissing for almost a year after that first traumatic experience. But Chad March had warmed her up to the idea again, when he’d cornered her at a beer bust one warm September night.
Now, though …
She felt heat flush through her, heat that had nothing to do with the pounding of her feet or of her heart.
Fiona was terrified. Deliciously, awfully scared. At any moment, he’d catch her. Oh, yes.
As she raced into the cave, she knew from past experience that it would take more than a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the tiny amount of moonlight that filtered in from the front opening and from the old blowhole above. But she still knew how the white limestone wall curved inside, and she remembered the tall second wall of stone that cu
rved to the right. She threw herself, gasping, behind it, holding in her almost-hysterical laugh as best she could. She pressed her back against the cold wall and willed her heart to stop pounding – it throbbed in her ears so loudly she was sure he’d hear it.
Only a few seconds behind her, Abe raced into the cave. She heard the wet scrunch his feet made in the rocky sand. Fiona held her breath.
Please, please find me.
As if he were using sonar, he came directly around the rock. He couldn’t see her yet – her own eyes had just adjusted enough to see that he was blinking hard. But he didn’t hesitate.
Abe took the two steps needed to reach her.
Fiona could feel his heat, inches away. She stayed stiller than she ever had in her life.
Then he took the one extra step.
Fiona couldn’t tell who kissed first, whose lips were more ready. All she knew was that his kiss was what she’d been waiting for, so much longer than just tonight.
Abe’s mouth was hot. Needy. He kissed as if he had every right to kiss her like this, to make her knees go instantly shaky, to heat her skin even hotter. She felt a matching blaze hit her cheeks.
‘Abalone,’ she murmured against his mouth.
Without stopping the kiss, keeping his lips on hers, using his tongue to lick her bottom lip and then softly bite it, he said, ‘Don’t call me that.’
She laughed low in her belly and leaned into him. There. She could feel how rock-hard he was. How ready. When the kiss had started it had felt as though he was leading it, but now that she wrapped her arms around his neck and trailed her mouth upward, feeling that wonderful sharp stubble scrape her lips, she knew she was the one leading now. Her left hand rested lightly on his chest, and she could feel the escalating rhythm of his heartbeat under her fingers. Still unsure where this courage was coming from but grateful for it, she tugged on his earlobe with her lips. Abe gasped and pulled her tighter against him, thrusting his hips so that his hardness was evident against her stomach.
‘Jesus,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘What do we do now?’
Abe groaned and then took a full step backward. He kept his hands on her wrists so she couldn’t move forward. ‘We slow it down.’
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