She looked at Ted, her grin still pasted on her face. “Speaking of that, I know you’ve got your suit all picked out for the swearing-in ceremony, but, word to the wise.” She looked him up and down, as if imagining him in that suit, then stared him in the eye and continued. “It might be a day that’s more about the swearing part for you.” When Ted opened his mouth, she cut him off. “My gran always told me not to count my chickens before the eggs have hatched. She was a wise woman. You’re so good at listening to your elders, I’m sure you can appreciate that.” She smiled at the three of them and thought she did pretty well considering her clenched jaw. “Good day . . . gentlemen.” She said the last word somewhat sarcastically and was certain from the way Brooks frowned that he hadn’t missed it.
She managed to make it all way to her car without breaking into a run or breaking down into tears. In fact, her eyes and throat felt dry as dust.
So, that’s it then, she thought as she climbed back into her car. No more diner. She stared, unseeing, out the front windshield. “Now what?”
Chapter 10
Delia pulled into the gravel lot of the diner and parked around the back, but didn’t immediately get out. She couldn’t remember a single part of her drive there. She was still trying to absorb what had happened. Not the potshots and condescension, but the reality that, at the bottom of it all, the mayor had apparently made up his mind. She had no idea when things would happen, when the diner would close, any of that. She’d have to call... someone at the county courthouse. Someone she could talk to without feeling the need for firepower, to get the answers she needed. And she needed that information before she told anyone else.
It was all . . . too much. She didn’t know what to do first, or next, but she knew she needed to calm down before she went inside. She imagined she looked like a raging virago at the moment. Red hair and a pale complexion made having any kind of poker face an impossibility. She palmed her cell phone, but didn’t punch in the number that had immediately come to mind.
She wanted to talk to him, but was it because she really thought his listening to her try to put into words what was going on inside her head would actually help . . . or because it was simply an excuse to hear his voice?
She’d learned that apparently there was no level of mortification grand enough to stop the dreams from happening. She’d had one again last night, and felt her face warm as she thought about the fog of pleasure she’d still been feeling when she’d opened up her eyes that morning. Right before she’d blinked wide awake, looked wildly around to make sure she wasn’t on the couch, half naked, or that Ford wasn’t somewhere in the house, waiting for her to wake up. Again.
No, she shouldn’t call him. Besides, now she had her answer. Or one of them anyway. She was going to lose the diner.
She stilled, waiting, as if half expecting to either burst into tears or fly into a fit of rage. But neither of those things happened. Still numb.
She didn’t look at the diner, she noted. Not directly. Not yet.
There was an avalanche of things that would happen, swiftly, once the axe actually fell. Things that would need to be done, not the least of which was finding a way to explain to her crew and to her customers that they’d no longer have a place to work, or a place to come and eat, pass the time, catch up on the latest Cove gossip and news. No, Delia decided. Mayor Davis could explain to her crew, to her customers, why there would be no Delia’s Diner. And she was damn sorry if that made him uncomfortable. She was sure he would get over it while enjoying his free yacht club membership. Or whatever perks Brooks had promised him.
A light rap on her window had her jumping and guiltily snatching her phone up and holding it to her chest. As if she’d been doing something she shouldn’t. Like your sex dreams about Ford are, what, somehow broadcasting themselves on your phone screen? She turned, scowl at the ready, because she’d just about had it with folks sneaking up on her, only to go still when she saw it was Ford. A frowning Ford.
She instinctively started to lower the window, and then realized that was stupid and just opened the door. He had to step back as she got out.
“I tried to get your attention, but you were really lost in thought,” he said by way of apology. “Everything okay?”
“Define ‘okay’?” she said sardonically, and then noted the concern on his face, which didn’t seem to be aimed at her. “Everything’s not okay with you, though. What’s up?” It was a relief of almost giddy proportions to put her thoughts apart from her own problems and onto something, someone else. Even if that someone was her sex dreams co-star, Ford Maddox.
“I have to head back to Sandpiper.”
“Oh,” she said, surprised, though not sure why. She’d known all along his time back in the Cove would be short-lived. In fact, given how much his news disappointed her, it was probably just as well he was leaving sooner than later. “Is something wrong? I was going to call you and tell you to go on back. I mean, we’ll talk at some point, about . . . things. But I’m just back from city hall, and it looks like the decision has been made.”
The distracted look in Ford’s eyes vanished and he focused instantly on her with laserlike precision.
Wow. No wonder he was good at the special forces thing. She felt like he could have pinned her in crosshairs at three hundred yards without needing a scope, his focus was so intense.
“Mayor Davis announced he’s accepted Winstock’s offer?” he said shortly. “Did you at least get the chance to talk to him first? What did he have to say?”
“Cami found me and told me Brooks and the mayor were having a meeting, and by the time I got there they were already out front, hearty handshaking and backslapping.”
“Did you talk to them anyway?”
Delia’s smile was rueful. “We might have exchanged a few words.” When Ford’s concerned expression didn’t change, she said, “Davis wanted to drag me inside and make it all go away over a cup of coffee, but I told him he’d have to announce the yacht club news and, by default, the closing of my diner news to the town himself.”
“Good,” Ford said, though he didn’t look all that appeased. In fact, it looked like it was a good thing he didn’t have any firepower on him. At least, she didn’t think he did. “When is he going to announce it?”
Delia shook her head. “I have no idea. I left and came back here.”
She looked up into those gunmetal gray eyes. “The bottom line is, I’m going to lose my diner. Now I have to figure out what comes next. And . . . I’ll need a little time on that. There are a lot of other things that will need to get figured out first.” She looked over her shoulder at the back door to the diner’s kitchen, and felt the first real knot of dread work its way past the numb. “Like how to tell everyone,” she said, the words a little rougher.
Ford took hold of her arms and gently turned her back to face him. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but it sounds like you’re just giving up without a fight.”
“You weren’t there, Ford. The decision is made. There’s no wiggle room.” She felt a little mad coming on. It wasn’t as good a feeling as numb, but it was a close second. And it beat the living hell out of despair and anguish, which she was pretty sure were her next stops. “And so much for only offering advice when asked.”
His lips twitched, but the concern in his eyes remained. “I said I’d try. And I personally don’t care if you fight or not. But it’s one of those things you can’t go back and do over. You need to make sure you’re okay with it.”
“I don’t think me being okay with it or not being okay with it is an option. I don’t get to choose. It’s being decided for me.”
“Let me put it this way,” he said, not backing down in the face of her growing anger. In fact, he remained infuriatingly calm.
Note to self: never argue with an army ranger.
“Will you regret not having at least voiced your opinion?” he asked. “Not knowing for certain that you did everything you possibly could?”
<
br /> “Oh, I voiced my opinion. But it was after the fact, so while it felt good, it wasn’t exactly taking a stand because there was nothing left to stand for. Beyond that, I try not to live with regrets. They’re a nonstarter.”
“What are you going to do? Start over?”
She raised a palm, lifting that arm out of his grip. Her anger evaporated as her stomach balled up in earnest. “Don’t you have some kind of island emergency you need to go deal with?”
“Yes. But you’re more important.”
Her knees might have gone a little weak at that. Then her face crumpled.
“No crying,” he said, an edge of panic in his voice. “I told you I’d be here for you, and I am.” He tugged at the arm he still held, pulling her a half step closer. “Were you really going to call me and tell me to head on back to the island? You just found out you’re going to lose your diner and what, you didn’t think you could turn to me with that?”
“Turn to you for what?” she said, exasperation and fear lacing the words in equal measure. “It’s over. Done. I can’t change it. What could you do?”
“This.” He pulled her against him, wrapped those big strong arms around her, and held on.
She’d fallen apart on him before, not two days ago in fact. He’d carried her into her house the night before that, too. But she’d already been a wreck in both of those cases, not able to fully appreciate or recognize what it was that was happening. This time she was exceedingly aware. How the sturdy wall of chest felt against her cheek, how the steady thump of his heart was so reassuring, the feel of his arms, banded around the small of her back, supporting her, no matter what. She was also very aware of how her body lined up with his, how his thighs felt pressed against hers, how her hips tucked in perfectly between his. She trembled, and knew the reason for her unsteadiness reached far past the emotional trauma that was most certainly heading her way.
“It works better if you hug me back,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ears.
Her knees actually knocked at the velvet gruffness of the words, and the feel of those lips on any part of her anatomy made certain muscles between her thighs clench so tightly she might have moaned a little. Her hands slid around his torso and up his back, where she grabbed fistfuls of plaid flannel and held her face against his chest.
He pulled her in closer, tucked her into the frame of his body. “Just hold on to me,” he said, the words hard to hear over the pounding of her heart. “You can always hold on to me.”
She didn’t cry. Thank God. She just did as he asked and held on, and gradually allowed her body, and perhaps her mind, and more important, her spirit, to be braced, supported by his strength. It had been a long time since she’d been hugged, she realized. She handed hugs out often, but giving comfort was not the same as receiving it. How was it she could have forgotten the unwavering power there was to be had in simply being held in another person’s arms?
She felt him run a broad palm over her hair, smoothing it down, keeping the steady harbor breeze from snatching at it. She shivered at the sensations that rippled through her at the pure pleasure that came with having any part of her stroked. She lifted her cheek from his chest, and he cupped the back of her head as she tipped her face up to his. “Thank you,” she said, emotion thickening her voice. “I’d forgotten how much good a hug can do.”
He ran the side of his thumb along the outline of her cheek. “Me, too.”
It took every scrap of willpower she had to keep her gaze on his eyes, and not lower them to his mouth, not lean in, just that tiny bit of space, so she could taste them once more. It had been so very long ago. A lifetime. They weren’t even the same people.
And yet, looking into his eyes, he was still exactly the same. Rock steady, instinctively protective, spectacularly focused.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were standing in the middle of her parking lot, in broad daylight, in full view of anyone going in or out of the diner. And it was unlikely anyone would think, looking at them, that he’d merely been offering her a hug of comfort and support. She wasn’t sure she cared what anyone thought they were doing, but he might.
His gaze dropped to her mouth just as she opened it and said, “You—don’t you need to go take care of something on Sandpiper?”
Instead of bringing his gaze immediately back to hers, he let his eyes linger on the movement of her lips for another endless second or two afterward.
And suddenly it didn’t feel as if he thought it was just a hug of comfort, either.
Her body shifted of its own accord, coming into fuller contact with his, and a soft gasp escaped her lips when she felt him very specifically twitch in response. “Ford—”
He lifted his gaze slowly, almost lazily back to hers, and her throat went dry as she noted his dilated pupils, and the light of a very different kind of focus entering their dark and stormy depths. He let his thumb slide over her cheekbone and slowly drew it to the corner of her mouth.
She was a split second away from turning her head and nipping the tip of that thumb, pushing them squarely past the edge of the cliff they were both dancing along, when the slap of the diner door had her leaping back as if she’d been scalded by him.
Not exactly an inappropriate comparison, she thought, resisting the urge to fan herself.
Whoever had exited the diner didn’t come around the side of the building, but she smoothed her hair, straightened the front of her shirt, and then rubbed her damp palms on the sides of her thighs anyway. “What’s wrong—” She had to stop and clear her throat. “What happened? On the island.”
He hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked, hadn’t so much as turned his head to see who had left the building, and apparently didn’t care if they had bleacher seats full of spectators.
Which somehow made the whole moment they’d just shared even hotter. If infernos could be hotter.
“I’ve got a possible puffling rescue,” he said, at length. His tone was normal, maddeningly calm. But the look in those still black eyes was anything but.
“Did you just say . . . puffling?” And how was it possible that made him even hotter?
“We had that nest marked DNS. Did Not Survive,” he explained. “But we have a cam on that burrow and I saw movement. So I need to go check it out.”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I mean, for the puffling being in dire straits. Your interns are gone now, right?” She paused, and then blurted out, “Do you need any help?” What on earth are you asking?
He looked surprised by the offer, but said, “Yes, they have, but that’s okay. I just—” Now he did finally break the laser-beam gaze he’d set on her to glance across Harbor Street to the water beyond. “I need to get going if I’m going to beat the tide.”
“Yes, I didn’t think about that. I guess you do,” she said. “How long?”
He looked back to her, lifting an eyebrow in question.
“Will you be gone,” she added. In case I need another hug. Or . . . something.
“Till tomorrow at the soonest.” He didn’t add anything else, and she wasn’t sure if he wanted her to ask him to come back, or . . . probably his thoughts were on where he should be right now, and that wasn’t staring all enigmatically at her.
Now it was her turn to look away, and glance at the diner. “I don’t think I’m going to do anything—say anything—right away.” She pulled in a breath and let it out slowly, hoping the pheromone fog would dissipate along with it. “I need to make a few calls. I didn’t grow up in this town and feed almost every mouth here without making a few contacts. I have a few in the mayor’s office, so maybe I can at least get a heads-up on how he’s going to handle everything. And when.”
“That’s good. No more blindsiding.” He finally took a step back. “If you’re sure—”
“I’m sure. Go, go,” she said, and meant it. “I can’t take being responsible for letting down everyone here in the Cove and a dying puffling. It would put me over the edge.”
He
smiled briefly at that. “Not everything is on you, you know.”
Oh, I know. Her body was already protesting the protracted distance she’d put between it and the very nice other body she’d had it pressed against not minutes before. Boy, do I know.
“What can I say? I’m a caretaker by nature.”
“There are worse things,” he said, appreciation now in his gaze.
That warmed her, too. “Being taken care of wasn’t exactly awful, either,” she said, offering another smile, this one of thanks.
She got a smile back for her efforts. She had the stray thought that maybe she should do whatever it took to get more of those.
“I have my phone on me,” he said. “I won’t be near the computer until late tonight.” At her frown of confusion, he said, “In case you need to talk.” He stopped when she simply stood there, staring at him. “It’s that thing two people do when they’re trying to work through issues and find solutions. Amongst other things.”
“Right,” she said, thinking that somehow they’d gone from him popping back suddenly into her life, to being. . . friends. Only, this time, he was giving as much as he was taking. Actually, he was doing more giving than she was. “Yes,” she said, still distracted by the realization. “Thanks.”
He shook his head, clearly thinking she was a lost cause. “And I thought I was the one cut off from all humanity,” he said, but there was a gentle dryness to the jibe. “I can’t figure out how it is that you’ve spent your whole life in the middle of this tight little community, but still managed to stay so far outside the circle when it comes to sharing who you are.” He’d clearly meant it as a rhetorical statement, because he turned and walked toward his truck.
She didn’t take it as one, though. In fact, for her, it was something of a profound lightbulb moment. “I guess because I didn’t think anyone really wanted to know,” she said slowly, wondrously, but to herself, not loud enough for him to hear. “My job is to listen to them, not the other way around.”
Sandpiper Island (The Bachelors Page 15