by Jill Jaynes
“Aurora’s sitter told me that all well-dressed men should carry handkerchiefs. I surely wasn’t going to argue with a 70-year-old woman who lectures me on the accoutrements of a gentleman.”
A faint smile spread on her lips. “You know JB, you’re the first person not to say everything will be okay. I’ve heard that from everybody back in L.A. It will all be okay. Everything will be fine.” She waved her hand around in a circle. “As if Debra’s death is just some blip in my life, and in time everything will be right in the world, once I have closure. I’m not sure what that even means.”
“I don’t know either.”
She laughed. “I appreciate your honesty.”
JB got up and cleared the table of their plates and glasses. “No. But I do know I brought red velvet cake for dessert.”
“Great. I’m going to roll back to L.A. if I eat this way the whole week.”
“Patrice,” he sat back down and took both of her hands in his. “I wish I had some answers for you, but I’m just swimming through life like everyone else.”
She leaned toward him. Her eyes sparkled and he sucked in his breath as she ran her hand along his cheek. “I know. You’re a good friend. You’re actually a best friend. Thank you.” She brushed her lips across his. He gripped the side of the chair, forcing himself not to reach out and pull her into an embrace.
“Patrice,” he whispered, waiting for her to speak, only she didn’t but continued to hold his gaze. The memory of their last time together, ten years ago, flashed across his mind. However, rather than pulling away, he leaned closer.
Patrice laid her hands on his chest. Her touch burned his skin through his dress shirt. He ran his hands along her legs, up her hips and under the hem of her sweatshirt, exposing her soft skin. His body warmed as he ran his hands up her back. She felt as good as he remembered—even better. She shimmied onto his chair, squatting in his lap, encircling his neck with her arms, their bodies fitting together with ease.
“JB.” She breathed, her breath cascading across his face. An invitation? He leaned back and looked up into her face. She grinned, touching her nose against his, before she gently kissed him. Any doubts about seeing Patrice again vanished as her lips melted against his.
Cupping his hands under her, he scooped her up onto the table, disregarding the real estate papers. She straddled him, wrapping her legs around his waist. He buried his face in her neck, drinking in her intoxicating scent. He trailed kisses up to her chin and pulled back. Her eyes were filled with mischievousness and something else he wasn’t able to identify. He captured her mouth, tasting her deeply, ignoring the warning bell echoing in the back of his mind. Her hands raked through his hair. Her legs tighten around him, melding his body to hers, igniting his dormant desire.
The shrill ring of the cell phone broke into his thoughts. What the—He stood up, stepping back away from the table. “Patrice” His voice was hoarse and hardly recognizable.
“My phone!” Rolling off the table she lunged for her cell phone, frantically swiping the screen before saying hello.
JB leaned against the sink, rubbing his head, and mentally kicking himself. He should have called.
* * *
Patrice stood in the empty kitchen, clutching her phone, reading Harry’s text again, letting the news sink in.
The house was sold.
Sure there were some details that had to be finalized. Harry texted he’d send an email outlining what still needed to be done. As far as he could tell, it was a done deal.
Patrice squealed; soon this house would belong to someone else and she could return to L.A., Debra’s notebook lay open on the table. Her sister’s dreams were tied up in this old house. Dreams she didn’t live to fulfill. Patrice shut the notebook, pushing it aside. She couldn’t bring her sister back, so lamenting over her unfilled dream was fruitless.
Dante jumped up onto the table, sitting just out of arms reach, fixing his green eyes on her.
Patrice stared back. “This is crazy.” She needed to get out of the house. She’d spent the day cleaning out Debra’s closet, packing the kitchen, and boxing stuff up for the thrift shop. A change of scenery was in order.
Closing the kitchen door behind her, Patrice walked through Debra’s neglected garden. The night jasmine, overgrown and choked with weeds, filled the air with its pungent aroma. Patrice gave it all a passing thought as she headed for town.
Plucking her phone from her purse, she scrolled through to JB’s number. She wanted to share her good news. She halted. What would he say? How would he react? She dropped her phone back into her purse. As much as she wanted to speak with him, there was a part of her that was hesitant to tell him her good news. Besides, if she saw him again before she left Moonlight Cove she could tell him then. That is, if she did see him again.
Main Street was closed up for the night except for the Lily Pad and the Marlin Bar, which was squeezed between the Crystal Experience Rock Shop and the Massage Therapy Spa. Its slim door, resplendent with peeling paint leaked a sliver of noise from within into the still night.
Patrice stepped inside, pausing as her eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior. A ‘90’s pop tune blared from a jukebox. Several patrons glanced at her and then returned to their drinks; in the back of the bar a spirited game of billiards was in play. Climbing onto a barstool, she caught the bartender’s attention, “Wine. Merlot. Please.”
He nodded, fishing a bottle off the back counter, filling the glass to the rim and setting it in front of her. “House Merlot. A local winery. You’re Debra’s sister.” He slipped the cork back into the bottle.
Patrice hesitated with her wine glass half way to her lips. “Yes.”
“Nice gal. Sorry about your loss.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to know she was so well liked here.”
“Know what?” JB stood behind her. Patrice felt a momentary wave of confusion. She had wanted to talk to him—didn’t she? And he was dressed for work on the farm, not the classroom. Under the gloomy light of the bar, Patrice noticed he avoided making eye contact with her.
“Hey JB, what would you like?” The bartender asked.
“Bourbon. Rocks.” He took the bar stool next to Patrice. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No. Not at all.” She sipped her wine, looking straight ahead. The bartender returned with JB’s drink.
“Heard your good news.” He held her gaze in the mirror on the back of the bar.
Patrice smirked. “Everyone knows everybody’s business around Moonlight Cove, don’t they?”
“Not everything. There are plenty of secrets, but selling Debra’s house is not one of them.”
She turned to him mocking his seriousness. “Really? And what secrets are you keeping?”
He stared at the amber liquid in his glass for a moment before replying, “None that I am able to divulge at the moment.”
Patrice ignored his comment and stared at his profile, hard and handsome, he betrayed nothing. Was something troubling him? Patrice brushed off her doubts. She was reading more than what was there. That was the trouble with spending so much time alone with only Dante for company; she started to see things that weren’t there. JB smiled. His eyes focused on her, and a wave of warmth spread through her body. She shifted, trying to get comfortable on the barstool.
“You have a secret I’ve been wondering about?” JB asked.
Patrice laughed. “Nope you got that wrong. I have no secrets.”
“What you see is what you get?”
“Something like that. Yes.”
She held his gaze, drawn to him. He pulled away and stared into his drink.
“Debra. What did she die from?”
Patrice ran her hands back and forth along the bar before answering. “Streptococcal toxic shock syndrome.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“A sore throat. My sister died from a sore throat.” Patrice gulped a mouthful of wine. “I thought everybody knew that.”
&nbs
p; “I didn’t. I wanted to ask you before, but I didn’t want to upset you.”
She laid a hand on his arm. She felt the radiant heat of his skin on her palm.
“You know the funny thing is, cleaning out her house, going through her closet and boxing up her clothes and her books, and being here,” she waved her hand around. “I think I’ve learned more about my sister and who she was in her death than I ever knew in her life. You know, we never really got along, even as kids.”
JB nodded. “I remember. I was around ten years ago.”
Patrice shuddered to think of all she had said, their arguments and criminations to each other. “After our parents split, we never saw my dad again, except for a check that arrived promptly on the first of every month. Then when mom died, Debra and I just drifted apart. I guess Mom was what held us together. Without her, we had nothing in common.”
“I know Debra was proud of you.”
“Yeah, well. Being proud of someone’s accomplishments and actually liking them as a person aren’t the same thing.” She drank more wine, wondering if she should order another glass.
“I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You did the—”
“The best that I could? No. I didn’t. I didn’t make amends with Debra. We argued when I was here before, and I left without getting it resolved. That was wrong of me. I should have apologized. I should have tried to stay in touch with her. I’ve missed out on seeing her because of my pride and my stubbornness. It’s a regret that I will always carry.” She stared into the red wine. “You know, the only upside to all of this, is that I discovered how much Debra was loved by people here. I had no idea she was so well thought of. Driving up here last Monday, I was so angry and frustrated having to deal with selling her house and being away from L.A. at this time of year. But, since being here and hearing all the nice things people have said, makes me feel better. In some crazy way, it warms my heart to know she wasn’t lonely. That she had friends here who cared about her.”
“You’re a good person, Patrice.” He raised his glass.
“Thank you. That means a lot.” Patrice acknowledged his toast.
They were both silent, staring into their drinks. Patrice felt the all familiar rush of being so close to JB. Noticing how the tendons of his neck twisted and his hair shorn so close on the back of his head, she itched just to run her hands along his hairline, feeling the strength radiating from him.
He sipped his drink and then carefully aligned it in the middle of his napkin. “So, when are you heading back to L.A.?”
Patrice didn’t hesitate. “End of the week. Like I had always planned. I still want to box up a few of Debra’s things to take them with me and then ship the rest.”
“That’s a pretty quick sale.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m getting the asking price, a short escrow, and they waived the home inspection. Seriously, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”
“And Dante?”
“The neighbors want him. Apparently, they were feeding him until I arrived and they told me that he has eradicated every mouse in their garden. So he’s welcomed there.”
“Everything has worked out perfectly for you, hasn’t it?”
“Yes. Yes, it has. The money from the house will really help. It will help, a lot. Keep me solvent for a while as I re-tool my business.” She ran through a mental list of what she would do first.
“Sounds like you have it all planned out.” He ran his thumb and forefinger up and down the condensation on his glass.
She looked away, feeling a bit undone. Plan? She had never really planned anything in her life—just run by the seat of her pants. He surely wasn’t sharing in her enthusiasm, but he wasn’t criticizing her plan either. Sipping her wine, she asked, “So, what brings you into town tonight?”
His mouth twisted. “Meeting over at city hall. Went by your place—I mean Debra’s. You weren’t there and—”
“Did Dante suggest you come here looking for me?”
JB gave a lopsided grin and shook his head. “No. I figured I just needed a drink before I drove back to the farm.”
“And where is your daughter while you’re here?” She bit her lower lip, wondering if she should even ask.
“With the sitter.”
Patrice grinned. It was still early.
“How’s the wine?” JB asked, gazing back at her, although his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Good. Actually, it’s quite nice. I never knew the central coast had such good wines.” Patrice looked at the glass in her hand.
“Central coast has a lot to offer.”
She laughed. “You sound like the tourist board.”
He shrugged, sitting back. She sucked in her breath, eager to touch him, but more eager to move past this unspoken barrier between them.
Her phone buzzed. She scrambled, pulling it from her purse and staring at the screen.
“Work?”
“Yep.” Tapping her reply, she said, “I have a couple of clients lined up. One in particular could really help. She’s very influential.”
“You love it. Your work? Don’t you?”
Patrice hit Send and laid the phone next to her half empty glass. “Yeah. Yeah I do. I mean, I’m good at it. I really am, if I do say so myself.” She laughed at her own bravado. “But yeah, I like making the client happy. Making her feel fantastic in a gown or an outfit that I’ve put together. Making her look her best. If the client feels great then I know I’ve done my job well. It’s always changing. One day is never like the last one. I like the change, the excitement.”
“Good. I’m glad. I’m glad you’re happy.” He downed the last of his drink and stood. “I’ve got to get going. It was good to see you again, Patrice. I hope everything works out for the best. I truly do.” He pulled out a wad of bills.
“No. No. No way, I’ve got this one.” Patrice dug into her purse, pulling out her wallet.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes. Yes. I do. You’ve been a good friend to me these last few days and you were a good friend to my sister. The very least I can do is buy you a drink.” She tossed some bills onto the bar, gathered up her stuff and slurped down the last bit of wine. “I’ll walk out with you.”
He followed her out, his hand on her lower back. His touch singed through her blouse, warmth spread through her body, and just as they stepped out of the bar, he moved aside dropping his hand. Patrice shivered.
“Smells like rain.” JB took a deep gulp of the night air.
“You’re kidding. You can smell that?” His face was shrouded in the darkness of the evening, but she could feel him staring at her.
“Yes,” he said quietly under the muted hubbub from the bar and the undulating sound of the crashing waves on the beach.
The tension between them was different. Patrice wasn’t sure why. Some sort of shift had occurred and she felt a bit off kilter.
“My truck is up by your house. I’ll walk you home.”
He fell in step beside her, but she didn’t walk up the street towards Debra’s house. She walked in the opposite direction. She slid her hand in his, which was rough and calloused, and she itched to feel his caresses across her body.
His profile, murky in the cloudy night, was hazy. However, his presence overwhelmed her. She knew that tonight, she’d follow him anywhere, if only he’d ask.
The bark of sea lions in the distance and the methodical chant of the moored boats in the harbor were the only sounds. She let go of his hand and carefully made her way down the stairs to the beach, JB close behind her.
Stepping onto the sand, she kicked off her shoes. Wiggling her feet deep into the flesh of the beach, feeling the granules between her toes, Patrice let out a sigh. “This is the first time I’ve been to the beach since I’ve been here.”
JB picked up her discarded shoes. “Usually this is the first thing people do when they come to Moonlight Cove. They walk along the beach.”
She
had, so many years ago when she had come to see Debra. She had walked down those stairs, tossing off her shoes to feel the sand. She remembered that now, enjoying that moment.
“JB, I—” she stopped, suddenly unsure, afraid of the possibility of rejection. His being with her, was intoxicating enough, but would he be willing to follow her. She was unsure.
Never taking his eyes from her face, he asked. “Care to go around the rocks?”
Patrice nodded. JB offered her his hand and she slipped her hand in his. “Lead the way.”
He led her over the craggy outcrops, helping her through the roughest part to a secluded area just in sight of the Moonlight Cove lighthouse.
He sat down on the dry sand and pulled her down next to him, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. He smelled of soap and aftershave, and she nestled up against him, feeling his body pressing against hers. She closed her eyes, concentrating, trying to imprint his presence on her memory, ignoring the star-filled sky and the rolling waves.
“This is where we started.” His voice sounded far away, even though his breath tickled her ear. “And this is where we’ll end.”
She shuddered. “JB, I know you must think I’m a—”
He didn’t let her finish her sentence but twisted her around, capturing her lips. Patrice opened herself to him. He tasted of caramel drenched in desire and she melted in his arms.
As his ragged breath cascaded over her, she snuggled closer, tucking her head in between his chin and shoulder, cocooning herself in his embrace.
“No regrets, this time,” she said into his chest.
He laughed. She felt it more than heard it.
“Then, I guess this is good-bye.”
His words were blunt, pregnant with meaning. It was good-bye, truly their final farewell. This would be the last time they saw each other.
“Yes. It is.” The finality of her words even struck her as hard and harsh. But she wasn’t going to make some empty promises of returning to Moonlight Cove. She dug her feet deeper into the sand, hoping to find some stability, but just the opposite occurred. The deeper she pushed, the more unstable she felt.
He leaned back and cupped his hand along the side of her face, holding her gaze with his. She didn’t hesitate. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer, capturing his lips with hers, rolling onto the sand.