by Ranae Rose
Elijah drew a deep breath of sea air. From the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, he could hear the waves crashing on the shoreline. Wrought-iron fixtures jutted from the wall and bathed them in warm light.
Night had just fallen.
“You’re shitting me,” Elijah said. He’d lived with Jackson long enough to know that he was fighting laughter. “If anything, things are worse now than last time I saw Rogers.”
Jackson shrugged as a balding man shuffled past them, leaned against the wall and lit up a cigarette.
“I think she’s just having fun with you at this point. You know, giving you a hard time for the sake of it.”
“You know, I’m beginning to wonder whose side you’re really on.”
“Come on, it was funny. Hilarious, actually.”
“The job has twisted your sense of humor, man.”
Elijah fought a stab of laughter despite himself. Although he’d been anything but grateful when Rogers had regaled his table with the tale of how he’d once had to get stitches because he’d run full-force into a sliding glass door while chasing a suspect, being embarrassed in front of Peyton had almost been worth it just to see Rogers’ face when he brought up her pottery hobby.
Almost.
“I can’t believe she brought that up at her own engagement party,” Elijah added. “She’s been beating that dead horse for four years.”
After the incident, Rogers had pranked Elijah by stretching cling wrap across a men’s restroom doorway at the police station while he’d been inside. He’d walked straight into it when he’d emerged, much to her amusement.
He still heard her evil laughter ringing in his ears whenever he thought about it.
“Are you kidding? Telling your date that story was probably the highlight of the entire party for her.” Jackson laughed.
“In my defense, that glass was really clean. I’m talking next-level, glass cleaner commercial-worthy clean.”
“So you said when it happened, once the swelling in your lip went down.”
The sound of female voices and clicking heels caught Elijah’s attention, and he turned.
Peyton and Belle stepped onto the sidewalk together, handbags dangling from their shoulders. It was still crowded inside, so Elijah and Jackson had waited outdoors while the women had stood in the restroom line. Now, they were laughing as they made their way toward them.
Hopefully not at the little story Rogers had told them.
Peyton had seemed to find it pretty hilarious at the time, just like Jackson had said.
“Sorry you two had to wait for so long,” Belle said. “The line was killer. I think all the guests hit the bar pretty heavy.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jackson said. “A room full of cops and an open bar? It was inevitable. Not like they pay us the big bucks, as you well know.”
Belle smiled at him like he’d just said something poetic. She looked at him like that a lot. Normally, it made Elijah feel like one hell of an awkward third wheel.
Tonight, not so much.
He’d have given a kidney to see Peyton look at him like that, although considering how the evening had gone, he’d settle for her not sprinting in the opposite direction now that dinner was over.
“Ready to go?” Belle asked, reaching for Jackson’s hand.
“Uh-huh.”
She turned to Elijah and Peyton. “We have a date with a movie. It’s a twenty-four hour online rental, and it expires tonight.”
“Have fun,” Peyton said. “It was nice meeting you, Belle. You too, Jackson.”
After a quick round of goodbyes, Belle and Jackson left hand-in-hand, leaving Peyton and Elijah alone on the sidewalk.
“I apologize if the party wasn’t what you expected,” he said. “I didn’t mean for it to be a night of comedy.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I had a good time. Your friends are really nice, and Rogers – well, she’s funny.”
“Yeah, she’s quite the comedienne. I just hope she realizes that being the butt of her jokes tonight is my engagement and wedding present to her.”
Peyton grinned.
“I’m glad you had a good time, though. Do you need to get home, or can I interest you in a walk on the beach?” He nodded toward the shore, so close. So moonlit. So devoid of Rogers and her smartassery.
Although he’d enjoyed himself too – mostly – he craved time alone with Peyton. He still wasn’t sure how much she trusted him, but there were other couples strolling the Blue Mile, here and there. It wasn’t like they’d be totally isolated.
“Sure. Do you want to walk back through the restaurant and use the ramp?”
“We don’t have to; there’s a public access ramp just a few yards down the sidewalk.”
They walked together, and her little heels clicked against the weathered ramp boards. When they reached the steps, she slid them off and looped the heel straps through her fingers.
The beach stretched before them, silver and vast in the moonlight. He looked down at her free hand and was hit by a pang of longing and a wave of impulse.
* * * * *
Shock rippled through Peyton when she felt it: warm, deliberate pressure against her hand, larger fingers closing around her own. As she and Elijah stood at the foot of the wooden beach access stairs, flanked by dunes, her free hand was swallowed up by his grip.
And she was swallowed up by a wave of unexpected pleasure. It reminded her of a time she’d waded into rough surf as a kid and found herself pushed down and sucked under. She’d tumbled underwater, not knowing which way was up, until she’d been thrown onto shore.
He didn’t let go, and as they began their walk, the sense of disorientation remained. It was strange but pleasant – even a little thrilling. Even if some part of her knew she should be wary. A feeling – an attraction – so strong had to be dangerous, right?
She barely knew Elijah. And yet, after this evening, she felt weirdly as if she’d known him for a while. Like he was a friend who’d always made her heart race and her nerves tingle at even the thought of his touch.
In the restaurant, with his friends, he’d seemed so … normal. So nice. Not like some power-tripping cop out to make her life hard just because he could. In fact, if she hadn’t seen him in uniform, she would’ve sworn he wasn’t a cop at all. His kindness, his ready smile and his humor – those things didn’t mesh with the idea she had in her head.
Seeing him out of uniform was like having blinders stripped off. So far, she really, really liked what she saw.
Of course, the way the moonlight made his brown skin glow helped. Even beneath the night sky, his slim-fitting shirt hinted at the muscle definition in his arms and back. He didn’t have an overblown body builder’s physique, just slender muscle that looked natural on his tall and broad frame.
“Ghost crab,” he said.
Before the meaning of his words registered, something skittered against the side of Peyton’s left foot. She jumped, bumping Elijah.
He laughed as something pale and small ran frantically past them, toward the water.
“Oh. God…” She took a second to simply breathe, willing her racing heart to slow. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
She laughed breathlessly, hoping the night would hide the color rushing into her cheeks. “I don’t know what I thought that crab was; I just reacted.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got a cousin who’s terrified of them. Says they remind her too much of spiders. Of course … her phobia might have something to do with the fact that her brother and I used to pick up crabs and chase her around the beach with them when we were kids.”
“Now that’s just cruel.”
“In retrospect, yeah. But a lot of things seem like good ideas when you’re eight.”
“That reminds me of something that happened when I was around that age. Madison was a little older – about ten. Spider eggs hatched in our bedroom overnight, and she was the first to wake up the next morning and see hundred
s of tiny little hatchlings crawling all over the wall beside our bed. She screamed so loud that a neighbor two houses down called 911.”
“Madison is your sister, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Does she ever help customers at Charmed like you do? I haven’t seen her around.”
Peyton became extra aware of a familiar, heavy weight in the pit of her gut. It was always there, but sometimes, when she was busy or distracted enough, she nearly forgot about it.
“She used to, but she was in an accident about a month ago. She’s still recovering.”
“What kind of accident?”
“A pick-up truck hit her car head-on. She was driving at night and the other driver had turned down a one way street. One of her legs got messed up. Her knee hit the dash, and she had to have surgery to repair it.”
“I’m sorry. That really sucks.”
She nodded. He was still holding her hand, and the warmth of his touch seemed greater than ever when a fresh sea breeze combed through her hair, slightly cool.
“Between the pain, the after-effects of surgery and the medications they gave her, it was almost like she’d been zombified. She couldn’t do much until just recently. She just took over Charmed’s web and social media presence, which she’s handling from home.”
“What’s the doctor’s prognosis on her leg?”
“She’ll be able to walk again, but it’ll be a little while. After her bones heal, she’ll have to go through physical therapy and all that. For now, we’ve rented a wheelchair, but she hasn’t left the house since her surgery, other than to go to her follow-up appointments.”
“What about the other driver?”
“I think he got a gash on his head, maybe a concussion. Nothing compared to Madison’s injuries – his vehicle was a lot bigger than hers.”
“This happen on the island?”
“No, actually – across the bridge, in Charleston.”
“So you’ve been running Charmed and taking care of your nephew on your own for the past month?”
“For the most part.”
“That’s a lot to deal with.”
An itch burnt between her shoulder blades, and she fought the urge to shrug it away. It might sound like a lot, but it didn’t compare to what’d happened seven years ago. Back then, Jace had only been two. Peyton had juggled caring for the toddler, trying to be there for her sister, plus the waitressing job she’d held then.
And then there’d been the legal ordeal.
It’d been a literal nightmare. Sometimes, she woke up tangled in sweaty sheets, her mind spinning with dreams from those long, miserable months.
“I have a part-time employee at Charmed,” she said. “She’s a huge help. Runs the shop on her own when I leave to meet my nephew at the school bus stop.”
She didn’t say anything else about it. What had happened seven years ago wasn’t something she could bring up in conversation with Elijah. Just the thought made her start to sweat, and a momentary flash of doubt flared inside her.
But the rhythmic roar of the sea and the warmth of his hand lulled it away.
“Still, that’s a lot of work.”
She made a comment about the moon and ran with it when he replied by saying something about the tide.
They walked the better part of a mile in one direction before reaching a pier teeming with nighttime fishermen. There, they turned and started the journey back. It went by much more quickly than the walk out had, and Peyton’s feet seemed to grow heavy as Moreno’s came into sight.
She’d had a couple glasses of wine at the party. Somehow, the walk on the beach gave her a full-body buzz the alcohol hadn’t.
It was a novel feeling, a good feeling. Her last boyfriend hadn’t made her feel as deliciously aware of her own heartbeat as Elijah did.
“It’s just past ten,” he said when they reached the weathered wooden access ramp where they’d started. Music and chatter drifted from Moreno’s back deck. “Do you have a certain time you need to be home by?”
“No, actually, Sunday is the only day of the week I don’t work.”
He stepped back, allowing her to climb the stairs first. They were narrow, so she had to break their grip.
The splintery railing didn’t feel nearly as good against her hand as his skin had.
“What do you say we grab some coffee, then? There’s a place right up the block from here; we can walk.”
“Okay.” A wave of warmth swept over her when they reached the sidewalk and he took her hand again. There was the illusion of familiarity in his touch now, and it caused a tingling in her fingertips.
The Lowland Café was open until eleven on Saturdays – something few of the island’s places with good coffee could say. It was small and square, painted green and wedged between a boutique and a seafood restaurant. Large windows spilled inviting light out onto the sidewalk.
The inside smelled like coffee and donuts, despite the fact that the pastry shelves lining the wall behind the counter were nearly empty. Peyton breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet and earthy scent combination.
“They roast their own coffee here,” Elijah said. “Ship it all over the world.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah. I buy it to brew at home, every now and then.”
“Now I feel like I’ve been missing out – I’ve never gotten coffee here.”
“Well, it’s never too late to discover a good thing.” He stepped up to the counter, and she moved with him, even as he carefully disentangled his fingers from hers so he could take out his wallet.
Falling behind, she snuck a look at his ass in his pale khaki pants.
It was a tight, subtle swell of muscle, and the pants looked like they’d been tailored to hug each cheek. As good as he looked in his uniform, his choice of casual clothing definitely favored his backside more. Peyton thought she was being subtle until she caught the barista smirking at her.
Pretending to suddenly be interested in the day’s leftover pastries, she shifted her gaze to the shelves behind the register.
“Can I get you anything to eat?” the barista asked, a hint of that smile still on her lips.
Peyton surveyed a lonely éclair and a few bran muffins. “No thanks. I’ll have a cup of your house roast, please. Medium, with two sugars.”
The barista punched her order into the register, and Elijah ordered the same, but with cream and no sugar.
The café was almost empty. A man sat at one table, absorbed in the contents of his laptop’s screen, and another sat in an arm chair with an e-reader. There was an entire empty side of the café, with a blue loveseat and coffee table.
When Peyton and Elijah took the small couch, its cushions all but swallowed her. It was plush and well-worn, ridiculously comfortable. She settled into it, letting her shoulders sink into the padding.
“I can never let myself sit on this couch after a shift,” Elijah said, “I’d fall asleep.”
“I believe it.”
Peyton sipped her coffee. It’d cooled just enough not to burn her, and was better than the island’s average brew.
The man at the tall table packed up his laptop and shuffled out of the café. The only other patron was seated on the other side of the building, and the barista had disappeared behind a door that presumably hid supplies from public view. Soft jazz music played over several compact speakers, quiet enough to be relaxing rather than obtrusive. If not for the coffee, Peyton might very well have fallen asleep.
Not that she was bored, or exhausted. She was just that at ease in the little café with its cozy seating and secluded atmosphere.
Elijah nodded at a bookshelf built into the wall to their right. It was laden with dozens of books: everything from old, hard-backed literary classics to tattered paperback mysteries and romances. There were even a few picture books. “You can read the books here. Even take them with you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s sort of an unofficial library. People
are free to take and leave books, or just read them while they have their coffee.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like that before. Sort of like a ‘leave a penny, take a penny’ for books.”
He nodded.
“Do you like to read?” she asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yes, although I don’t read as much as I’d like to. Usually, I’ll sneak a chapter or two at the sales counter if business is slow. I mostly like mysteries and psychological thrillers. What about you?”
“A little bit of everything, but I’m especially partial to police fiction and true crime.”
“Detective stories?”
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“Are you interested in detective work?”
“My old man was a detective. Retired from the Charleston Police Department. Guess you could say I’ve always wanted to follow in his footsteps. Have a ways to go, though.”
She tipped her head to the side, suddenly curious. “How old are you?”
He had a smooth, youthful face, but he seemed too at ease in his own skin for the age he appeared to be at first glance.
“Twenty-eight.”
“Really? I’m just about the same age – twenty-nine.”
“And you already own your own business.” He raised his coffee cup, as if to toast her. “You’ve got one or two up on me, career-wise.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Her stomach knotted.
“Why not?”
She loved running Charmed, but it had been launched with blood money. She had no regrets about opening the business, but the truth was what it was.
Which made it imperative that she succeed. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – let Charmed fail.
“Well, we’re barely turning a profit.”
“How long have you been in business?”
“Three years.”
“They say it takes a while to get a business operating in the black, right?”
“Right, but… I don’t know, it’s easy to see the logic in that when you’re not pouring your own blood, sweat and tears into something. When you are, sometimes not being an instant success feels like being a failure.”