by Meredith, MK
“Look, I feel like I’ve opened up more since you and I started a couple of weeks ago. You’ve helped me realize that in some ways I was avoiding pleasure when I didn't have to.”
His eyes grew dark, and she put her hand up to stop him from moving toward her. “I mean pleasure in the broadest sense of the term. Eating good food, listening to good music, enjoying my friends, heck, just in joining in on the fun of this wonderful town. I’d been missing out a little for fear of what...looking silly?” She stared into her glass. “Or needy? I don't know which is even worse in my mind. You've helped me figure out how to live more fully. And that is no small feat.”
“And I'm not done.” His voice was low and suggestive like she imagined he'd use with a jury when he needed to be his most persuasive. “Tonight is just about you. No agenda, I'm not trying to get anything out of you, and this will not end up with us naked, though it pains me to even say the words.”
She giggled, to hide the immediate deflated feeling she experienced herself.
“You need to be cherished, Claire.” His bright eyes bore into her own, demanding she hear him without any more words. The intensity of his gaze thickened the air between them, making it difficult for her to breathe. The ocean waves raged against the rocks, creating an echoed hum that sang through the foundation of the lighthouse.
“Why do you care so much?” she whispered, at that moment wanting him to hold her and at the same time feeling as though if she didn't move away, she might not make it out alive. “You might not even be here this time next year.”
His eyes darkened, and he rubbed his hand over his chest. He pulled out a stool for her at the small counter that made a peninsula between the kitchen and the living room. She’d always loved the way he moved. It was fluid and graceful even with his impressive size.
“Me possibly not be here next year is one of the main reasons for tonight.”
She slid onto the stool, wrapping her hands around her wine glass. “That's a bit dramatic, isn't it?” she teased. “As if I'll never see my friend Mitch again?”
He narrowed his eyes at her with a small shake of his head. “No, I'm pointing out that you save special things for a moment that you think is special enough, where I am trying to challenge you to look at every moment as uniquely special.”
He turned off the stove and pulled out a baking dish, setting it on top of the anchor trivet on the counter. The heat must have seeped through the dishtowel he used because he snatched his hand away, shaking it out with a soft curse.
“Hey, Mitch? Ovens are hot.”
“Drink your wine, smart ass, and just think about what I said.”
A yearning grew deep inside her as she watched him move around the kitchen. Accepting that every moment was special strengthened her fear. It allowed her to grow closer to those she loved, in turn, increasing the chances of pain when they were taken away.
“I get the whole live in the moment message, but there are some things that are more important than others. We can’t indulge all the time, it isn't healthy.”
Mitch looked at her out of the corner of his eye with a smirk that always transformed his face from handsome to sexy, and she took a swallow of her wine to prevent herself from asking to skip dinner and jump straight to dessert.
“Who says?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to toss back a retort but had nothing. His blatant refusal to accept the norm excited something deep within her. Life with this man would never be boring.
That was a promise.
He plated a dish of salmon and what looked to be herbed rice. Grabbing a lemon from a bowl, he sliced it into quarters as if he had done this a thousand times before. “Life can be terribly short. If we always wait for a special occasion, there’s a chance it might get missed altogether.”
He placed a plate in front of her and slid onto the stool, his knee resting against her thigh. A swift rush of awareness swept through her on contact, but she forced herself not to move away, and he didn't either. The heat of him reminded her of how it felt to be in his arms, the delicious weight of his body pressing into hers.
Making her yearn and dream and wish for things to be different as she followed the lines of his profile, the straight edge of his nose, and the strong angle of his jaw.
“Mitch.” She said his name softly, not sure what she wanted even as she asked.
He lifted a hand as if he were going to touch her face but let it drop back to the counter and picked up his fork. “You are the special occasion, Claire.”
She shook her head. Not because she didn’t believe him but because she believed he meant every word.
Silence filled the room as he studied her. “Cherished.” He slid his fork beneath a tender piece of salmon. His movements were always so gentle.
She’d never noticed that before.
“Cherished?” She whispered, her heart throbbing in her chest.
“It's what you need to be, Claire. Don't settle for anything less.”
She pulled in a shaky breath, wanting to reach out to him, but afraid if she did, she’d never let go.
* * *
Mitch watched in wonder as Claire’s struggle played across her face.
Her sweet smile dipped to a frown, then moved on to a tremble. Her eyes were both bright and wary. She lifted her hand for a moment, then fingers fluttering, set it back in her lap.
He meant every word he said. She needed, no deserved, to be cherished—held softly in love and with urgent passion. His own arms yearned to reach out and wrap around her familiar frame.
But he took another bite of salmon instead.
They ate in silence except for Claire’s moans of gustatory pleasure. The sounds set off all kinds of images in his head, and a very different kind of hunger filled his soul.
“You’re an amazing cook. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I always seem to be with you.” She spoke in a soft tone of awe.
“My mom...”
“Of course. Janice is a superwoman.” A giggle escaped her lips followed by a small burp, and she slipped her fingers over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I just did that.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment. You did say I’m a good cook.”
She grinned, and his heart stuttered in his chest. Her beauty was never a question, but the look on her face in a moment of unguarded pleasure was nothing short of stunning.
“You’re good at a lot of things.”
“Really good.” He flashed a wicked grin.
“And you hide behind your excess,” she said, punctuating each word with a small stab of her fork in the air.
A restless, itchy sensation pushed him up from his stool. Grabbing his plate, he walked to the sink. “Not sure what you mean there.”
“Well, you are frustrated with the lens of your reputation the town views you through, but whenever something might get serious, you make a joke, make a move, do something to hide behind the cavalier persona you’ve created.”
He set his dish in the sink, wincing at the sound of ceramic hitting the stainless steel. “I don’t hide.”
She shook her head. “It used to drive me crazy, wondering how you got through life seemingly avoiding responsibility...or reality.” With a sip of her wine, she joined him at the sink, staring through the window that framed a beautiful view of the Atlantic Ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. “But really, you were hiding.”
A tight sensation strung his shoulder blades tight, and he busied himself with rinsing the dishes. He scoffed. “Please, what do I have to hide from?”
Besides the direction of his life, lonely and without purpose, the warmth in her smile, the promise of love.
“From the looks of your drawings...attachment. It’s as if you’re afraid of allowing yourself to get close.”
The image of his father walking away, getting in his car, and driving off floated in a blurry haze in his mind.
But instead of admitting it to her, instead of telling her how he really
felt—that he’d fallen for her and it scared the shit out of him—he tossed the towel onto the counter, grabbed the bottle of wine, and wiggled it back and forth. “Apparently, someone has had a little too much to drink.”
The concerned glow in her eyes vanished, leaving something more akin to pain, but he resisted the urge to soothe the small wrinkle that formed between her brow.
“That was rude.”
“Or maybe you’re simply embarrassed that your psychoanalysis of some crayon scribbles is way off.”
Claire took a step back as if smacked, then with a determined set to her chin, grabbed her long gray sweater and headed for the door. “Psycho is right.”
A crumb of regret irritated the back of his throat. “Look, I get that you’re trying to help, but you can’t go saying this kind of thing to a kid taking a class at the Center. Parents would be calling in complaints non-stop.”
She hesitated a few stairs down, throwing daggers back up at him. “This kind of thing? Are you kidding me?”
With a wave of her hand, she continued down the stairs that spiraled the perimeter of the lighthouse, grumbling as she went. If they’d been talking about anyone else, he’d have loved her passion. But they were talking about him. And he’d panicked.
And he didn’t like it one bit.
Seeing her storm down the stairs scared him even more. He followed close behind, regretting every ignorant word he’d said.
Fuck.
An urgency to make it right pushed him forward. “Claire, wait.”
“I am credits away from my degree in psychology. The only thing between me and a license are a few classes and a test. Just because you can’t handle your own damn baggage does not mean that I’m wrong. And for the record...”
She burst through the archway into the main entrance by the front door, yanking on her Bean boots with sharp, jerky tugs. “...any kid I’ve ever worked with has handled the feedback with a hell of a lot more grace than you just did. The problem here isn’t me or my program. It’s you and your own issues.”
Pulling the heavy door open with a grunt, she swung back around.
He took the opportunity to drag her into his arms, slamming his mouth to hers. The feel of her lips, of her arms sliding up around his neck, and her melting into him, drove home the very real fact that he was done for.
Her taste would remain on his tongue a lifetime, and the feel of her in his arms an eternity. A small moan escaped from between her lips, and every nerve in his body responded with an immediate surge of interest.
But as quickly as she’d melted, she stiffened and pulled back with her lips in a thin line of resignation.
“There’s something here between us. You feel it. I know you do,” he rasped out around the emotion lodged in his throat.
“It’s not what we agreed on,” she whispered.
“But it’s there, isn’t it?”
She nodded in agreement, then snapped her chin up as if catching herself. “I have to go.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You know I do.”
“Now who’s hiding?”
Ignoring him, she backed through the door. “I hope you get your issues figured out before you make your final decision about my program. It would be a shame for the kids of our town to miss out on strong coping skills because you’re too afraid to face your own problems.”
Denial sprung to his lips, but she shut the door in his face. And it reverberated in his chest just as it had when his dad slammed the car door closed so many years ago.
This was the very reason he’d known all along he needed to keep his distance from her. He was made for the lust and attraction of relationships, but attachment? One single commitment where he was responsible for the happiness of another?
This was a prime example of how truly bad he was at something like that.
Chapter 16
Mitch looked at his mom, a sensation of complete and utter gratitude overwhelming him. After the way things were left with Claire, he’d worked his ass off not getting anything done. Sleep eluded him, so he tried to work, but he couldn’t think worth a shit and stared at legal documents as if it were the first he’d ever seen them.
“Bless you, woman.” He grabbed the casserole, pulling in the savory aroma of sausage and cheese as he led the way into the Cape house kitchen.
His time there was coming to an end. He and Ryker had been slowly working through applicants to sit in the caretaker position on a full-time basis. Which meant he had to get his ass in gear and figure out where the hell he was going to live.
Portland or Cape Van Buren?
Having to make such a choice in his life had never crossed his mind before, but after speaking with the mayor in Portland, it might just be an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.
But the decision was nowhere near as difficult as the one to give Claire space. Not seeing her every day seemed like an impossible way to live, but he owed her the best of him. And the best was distance.
She’d been right. He had issues. And that was the last thing she needed in her life. More than ever, he had to leave her in peace.
“Since I haven’t heard from you in over twenty-four hours, I was afraid you might not be eating. You always loved breakfast for dinner.”
“Who doesn’t? Brinner is the best meal.” He forced his tone to be light and turned the stove on to warm, then placed the dish inside. Straightening, he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. His mother’s red curls cascaded about her face as she humored him with her knowing smile. “What’s eating you?”
“Why did Dad leave?”
Her grin fell, and his immediate regret for being the cause almost made him choke. Shoving from the table, he skirted the island and grabbed his mom’s hands. “Never mind. It was a stupid question. Just forget I said anything. I’m an idiot.”
“Shh shh shh...” she soothed, squeezing his hands in reassurance. “The question simply took me off guard.” She placed her palm against his cheek, looking his face over as if it were her favorite art piece. “Does this have anything to do with the work you’ve been doing with Claire?”
He dropped to a stool. “How’d you know about that?” Throwing a hand up, he chuckled—the kind of forced noise that hurt coming out. “Never mind. Stupid question. Of course, you do.” But he doubted she knew how fucked over in love he was, or how he insulted her program.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw.
Janice was known for having an eye for details and a nose for news. Everyone joked that Maxine knew everything going on in town, but the truth of the matter was she was fed the information by Janice.
“She said I hide from reality.”
The look from his mother was the same one he used to get when he said he’d cleaned his room but he’d really shoved all his dirty clothes under his bed, and everything else was smashed into his closet. She saw through him like he was plastic wrap, and he knew it, but he still tried to pull one over on her every chance he got. And still found himself surprised when it didn’t work.
“Look, your dad leaving was hard. Things tend to be shrouded by very murky water when they hit you from out of the blue. But you were hurt by more than him leaving; you were hurt by the pain Ryker was in when he left, the pain you saw me in. I never meant for you to see it, but I began to put two and two together when you began to hang out with me on Friday nights instead of meeting your friends at the park for a pick-up game of football.”
She cradled his face in her hands, gently rubbing his cheeks with her thumbs just like she used to when he had trouble settling down for sleep. The action poured a wash of calm over him, and he couldn’t help but smile at his Pavlovian response.
Mothers were like emotional ninjas, and his was the master.
“You were always such a happy person that seeing you sad was like a kid seeing Santa cry,” he admitted gruffly.
“You’ve always been a big feeler. Which was why I had to pick myself up by the bootstr
aps wicked quick after I realized what was happening.”
“I’m sorry if I made it harder for you.”
She kissed his cheek. “On the contrary, my darling, you helped me wake up. I hadn’t noticed your father was unhappy and it almost took me too long to notice you were scared.”
“I wasn’t scared.” The denial spilled from his lips as if his mother was trying to decide whether or not to let him watch a scary movie that he really really wanted to see.
A smirk quirked up her lips. “Sorry, sad, confused, worried. Whatever the case may be. I wasn’t paying as close attention to what you and Mae needed as I should have. But Claire. Claire not only pays attention, but she also has incredible insight. I’d listen to what she has to say.”
“It doesn't really matter though, does it? I’m not the right man for her.”
An interesting light shone from his mother’s gaze. One that was different than anything else he’d ever seen before, and it left him restless.
“Well, isn’t that interesting.” She clicked her tongue against her cheek, a clever and mischievous look in her gaze.
Oh no.
He needed to tell her not to get any ideas, stat, but before he could utter a word, she made her way to the sliding glass doors. “Would you look at that?” She turned back to Mitch.
Speak of the devil...or angel with platinum hair, a probing gaze, and an ass that would make a saintly man weep. Claire was strolling along the South Cove shoreline.
“Go,” she said.
Leaving his mother to let herself out, he made his way down the back porch steps and across the lawn to the small patch of beach that ran a short length of the Cape’s south side. “You’ve been avoiding me.” It had been two days since they’d spoken. If any of the women he’d dated ever told him it had been too long since they’d talked after only two days, he’d have moved on at the speed of light.
And there he was.
Claire kept her head down, every now and again picking up a small shell from the bubbling surf to examine it closer. A few ended up being gently placed in the basket she carried, while others were put back where she’d found them.