Barefoot at Sunset (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 1)

by Roxanne St Claire

  Her dark eyes flashed for a second, then dimmed. “Okay.”

  “Okay? That’s all you have to say is ‘okay’?”

  “Well, what do you want me to say, Mark? Hallelujah, I have a chance?”

  “What do you mean, you have a chance?”

  “Against the memory of your one and only soul mate?” She shook her head, hard. “I don’t want to fight that memory. I don’t want to take her place. I really, really want to have sex and have fun and have my week in paradise like you promised me. But anything more?”

  “Would be bad?” he guessed.

  “Would be impossible.”

  Would it? Was he still that mired in the past? Did he have to face more fears in order to free himself for someone as extraordinary as Emma?

  “Look,” she said. “I think it’s very sweet that I mean enough to you in this short time to want that…that approval. But you don’t need it, Mark. This is just…a ruse. Remember?”

  He’d completely forgotten.

  “Hey.” She pointed to the stove. “Your water is boiling.”

  And so were his nerves.

  Without a word, he scooted around the counter to turn off the burner. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said casually and quickly. “But it was fun to see the old school.”

  “So what other places are you trying to avoid? If you tell me, I will drag you to them right this very minute.”

  “Okay.” He turned and gave her a look. If this was just physical for her, then…so be it. “Bed,” he said. “I’m terrified of it.”

  She frowned, confusion darkening her eyes until she saw him smile. “You are?”

  “Petrified. So, please, Emma DeWitt, drag me back to bed right this very minute.”

  She slid off her stool and crooked her finger. “Follow me.”

  He followed, of course. To paradise. To pleasure. To yet another thrill.

  Or was it just another form of escape? It was…for her. And he wasn’t sure why that bothered him, but it did.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jasper eyed one, then the other, his hands on his hips, his platinum rooster tail pointing to the unforgiving overhead studio lights. “So what happened with you two?” His voice rose with playful, unambiguous intention.

  Emma looked at Mark, seeing his chest rising and falling from the light exertion of The Power of Love dance. He lifted a shoulder, as confused by the question as she was.

  “I thought we nailed it,” Mark said.

  “Oh, you nailed something,” Jasper said. “Each other for the past twenty-four hours, is my guess.”

  Emma felt heat crawl up her neck. Was it that obvious? Jasper was right, of course. Sex happened…and quite a bit of it.

  Dinnertime sex, followed by before-sleep sex—though that was really more of Emma as dessert sex. They’d stumbled through the day yesterday, attended one subcommittee meeting, sneaked in a meal somewhere, and spent the rest of the time in bed, in the pool, on the sofa…

  And today there was blissful, crazy, triple-o-time morning sex. And a whole heck of a lot of soaping each other down in the shower.

  When she said “just sex” to Mark, Emma was pretty sure he’d interpreted that as only sex. Oh, they talked, if breezy banter counted as talking, but their short-term relationship had definitely taken a turn for the physical.

  “Are we dancing differently?” Emma asked tentatively.

  “You’re dancing like two people on fire.”

  “To win this competition,” Emma added, unable to ignore Mark’s somewhat satisfied smirk.

  “Then I hope you’ve picked out the perfect costumes.”

  “Uh, costumes?” Satisfaction disappeared as Mark’s face registered horror. “We’re not wearing costumes.”

  “Then you’re not winning,” Jasper replied. “Find yourself something suitably eighties. Emma, rip a T-shirt and find some leg warmers to wear over black tights. Mark, surely you’ve got something around. A nice white Miami Vice linen jacket and a skinny tie will do the trick. Loafers with no socks. And, for the love of Pete, practice at home. Standing up this time. Especially that free-for-all at the end. It’s sloppy.”

  He clapped three times, signaling the end of their lesson, and packed up his things.

  A few minutes later, at the Porsche parked on the street, Mark reached into his pocket.

  “Tails,” Emma said, knowing the ritual already.

  He flipped a quarter, caught it on the back of his hand, peeked, and grinned at her.

  “You’re cheating,” she accused.

  “I’m just lucky. And I’m driving.” He gave her a quick kiss and opened the passenger door. “Let’s go back to Heaven’s Helper. Mrs. Reinhardt has a ton of clothes in her thrift shop. Maybe something will work for our costumes so Jasper doesn’t completely disown us.”

  “I know, right? Complaining about our dancing.” She slipped into the seat and looked up at him. “I thought we were amazing.”

  He grinned at her. “I don’t think we washed all the pheromones off in the shower.”

  “I don’t know how that happened. We did everything else possible in that shower.”

  They took the long way—since Mark wanted extra driving time, Emma suspected—but found Carla Reinhardt behind her counter when they arrived back at the Heaven’s Helper.

  “Well, speak of the devil!” she cried out when they walked in.

  “Someone’s talking about us?” Mark asked.

  The woman looked toward the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. “Oh, Mark Solomon. Half the town is talking about you, young man. Hello again, Emma.” She gave her a warm hug. “No biscuits today?”

  “Not this time,” Emma said. “We’re here to raid your thrift shop of anything that looks like 1980s clothes.”

  She made a face of uncertainty. “You can look. But I hope you have better luck than the 1960s people that were here yesterday. As if I have tie-dye shirts. Come on, come on.” She led them through a doorway to the adjacent thrift shop, an undersized junk store with antiques, pictures, dishes, and along the back, some clothes. It smelled as dusty and worn as the goods she sold.

  While Emma started skimming through the hanging items, she noticed Carla sidled up next to Mark and whispered something under her breath that Emma didn’t catch. He turned and answered in a low voice, so Emma grabbed a bright pink T-shirt from the hanger.

  “Is there somewhere I can try this on?” she asked, hoping to give Mark whatever privacy he was seeking.

  “There’s a closet right over there that you can use.”

  Whatever they had discussed, the conversation was finished by the time Emma came back out. Mark looked a little pale, and serious, even though Carla had found him a fairly hideous white linen sports jacket and the requisite skinny tie. She’d even scared up some ancient leg warmers for Emma.

  Set for the dance, they said good-bye, and Carla leaned close to Mark and gave him a kiss. “I know you’ll do what’s right,” Carla whispered.

  They left the small shop, walking in silence, Emma waiting the whole time for an explanation.

  At the car, Mark handed her the key. “It’s your turn.”

  “Okay, now I know something’s wrong.” She took his hand instead and closed her fingers over his. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  He searched her face for a long moment, as if he wasn’t sure at all, then closed his eyes. “Carla saw Wayne Coulter yesterday.”

  “Wayne…”

  “Julia’s dad.” He blew out a breath. “She suggested, strongly, that I see him before he hears I’m on the island and didn’t visit. She almost told him, but wanted to respect my wishes.”

  “Don’t you want to see him?” she asked.

  “I know I should,” he said. “I did keep in touch with her mom, but she passed, and it was just awkward anytime I called him. He was wrecked.”

  He scratched the cheek he hadn’t bothered to shave, squinting into the sunlight. “Frankly, I didn’t know he was still on Mimo
sa Key, still living in the same house. After his wife, Betsy, died, he talked about leaving the island. But obviously he didn’t. Carla said she rarely sees him anymore.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  He shrugged. “Could be he’s a recluse now.”

  “Oh, that’s sad. You should visit him, Mark.”

  He gave her a quick look and, from the shadows around his eyes, she immediately knew that Julia’s childhood home would be one of those places he wanted to avoid. And who could blame him?

  She put her hand on his arm. “Let’s go together. Right now.”

  He looked at her, astonished. “You’d do that with me?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  He brushed his knuckles along her jaw. “Emma, you don’t have to.”

  “I know. But I want to.”

  His shoulders sank a little. “I don’t want to lie to him about this whole engagement thing.” He looked away, his face etched with pain. “I didn’t think this plan all the way through when I suggested it.”

  “You don’t have to lie. We’ll tell him the truth. We’ll tell him we’re friends and we’re purposely letting people think it’s more to protect you from the onslaught of questions about Julia. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  He looked at her, obviously thinking about the suggestion, but slowly, he shook his head.

  “No? You don’t want to tell him the truth? Or you don’t want him to meet me?”

  “I can’t believe you.”

  She felt her eyes widen. “What? I haven’t lied to you.”

  “No, I mean I don’t believe…you. This.” He placed both hands on her cheeks again, the touch gentle, light, and precious. “I never expected…I just didn’t think…I’d ever feel anything like this again.”

  “Oh.” She exhaled the word, nothing else possible as emotions hit her hard. Dismay. Hope. Relief. Joy.

  And the big one. The one she didn’t even dare think.

  “You just amaze me, Emma.”

  She tried for light. “Oh, well, that’s just the sex talking.”

  “No,” he insisted. “It’s not. It’s this.” He put a fist on his chest. “This…thing.”

  She smiled. “Thing?”

  “How would you describe this heart that has been numb for sixteen years and is suddenly feeling things again? What would the copywriter say?”

  “I guess I’d say…wow.” And that he was breaking their unspoken rules. “You left the copywriter speechless. That’s impressive.”

  “You’re impressive,” he countered. “Would you really come with me to do this?”

  “Would you have let me plow through a dangerous left turn or smack a biscuit canister all alone? You already faced fear number one by going to the high school. Visiting Julia’s dad and seeing her childhood home will be number two. What’s three?”

  His gaze moved over her shoulder, and she turned to follow it…to the church. Hope Presbyterian.

  “Let’s start with your father-in-law,” she said softly, taking the keys from him. “Tell me how to get there.”

  * * *

  If the number hadn’t been on the mailbox, Mark wasn’t sure he’d have recognized the little one-story Old Florida house at 121 Skyview Drive just a few blocks north of Pleasure Pointe in south Mimosa Key. To be honest, none of the houses looked much like they had thirty years ago.

  Shingle roofs had been replaced with barrel tile; brick homes were mostly covered in earth-toned stucco. Laurel oaks lined the street, some reaching three stories high, and many of the houses had been landscaped to show off queen palms and explosions of purple and pink bougainvillea.

  He didn’t remember this warren of simple houses between town and Pleasure Pointe as being so pretty.

  “I guess that’s it,” he said, indicating the second to last house on the right. “Although I don’t remember a brick driveway or windows with arches.”

  She threw him a smile. “Time marches on, big guy. You ready for this?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Why are you dreading it so much?” she asked.

  “I don’t want to see Wayne on the old plaid sofa, wearing slippers and a robe, surrounded by photo albums and empty bottles.” He gave her a soft smile. “You know. There but for the grace of God and all.”

  “You wouldn’t live that way, Mark.”

  He might have if he’d stopped moving long enough to feel the pain of what he’d lost.

  “I’m just so grateful you’re here, Emma.” He reached over and put his hand on hers. “After this, let’s go for a nice long drive. I want to see you open this baby up. There’s a deserted road on the way to the Everglades if you want to hit a hundred.”

  “I don’t want to hit anything but you for suggesting that.”

  He laughed, opening the door. “Let’s do this.”

  Holding her hand, they walked up to the door, taking in a lawn trimmed with deep-brown mulch and decorated with a bird fountain that sure as heck hadn’t been there the last time Mark visited.

  Even the front door had been painted a cheery red, giving him hope that poor old Wayne still cared about maintaining his home.

  No one answered their knocks or the bell after they’d tried several times. The garage door was closed, and there were no windows to see if a car was parked in there, so he didn’t know if Wayne was home and sleeping, or out.

  Now that he was here, Mark really didn’t want to have to come back or call to schedule something official.

  “Maybe he’s in the back,” Mark said, taking Emma’s hand to lead her around the side of the house.

  The yard had been neatly manicured, and the driveway paving stones extended all the way along the side. He glanced at the kitchen door, remembering that was how he always got in, never knocking.

  He peeked through the window, blinking at the granite and dark wood of a completely remodeled kitchen. No yellow linoleum, no white cabinets, no…Julia sitting at the little table doing homework.

  He waited for the kick from that memory, but there was none.

  In the back, the screened-in pool area was different, too. The old plastic chaise, the site of so many make-out sessions, had been replaced by upscale rattan outdoor furniture, and someone had added a fire pit.

  “What a pretty house,” Emma said.

  Pretty…different. “Well, I certainly don’t feel ghosts lurking in the corners,” he assured her. “Not a thing looks familiar to me.”

  “You want to leave him a note?”

  He puffed out a breath, considering that, but then they heard a car door slam in the front. “Maybe he’s back.” Still holding Emma’s hand, they returned to the front of the house where a late-model Jaguar had pulled into the driveway, a woman climbing out of the driver’s seat.

  And there was Wayne, stepping out from the passenger’s side. Instead of pajamas and slippers, he wore an expensive polo and crisp khaki pants. His gray hair was cut short, and his previously bordering-on-dumpy body looked fit and healthy for a man deep into his seventies.

  “Hello, Wayne,” Mark said, approaching that side of the car. “It’s nice to see you.”

  The older man did a double take, slightly unsteady for a flash, then his wide smile pulled. “Mark! So it’s true. You are in town.”

  Damn, he’d already heard. But before Mark could apologize, Wayne reached out and met Mark for a hearty embrace, patting his back with genuine warmth and pleasure, as if to show how happy he was to see his daughter’s husband.

  “This is the famous Mark Solomon?” The woman came around the car, lifting sunglasses to get a look, her face remarkably unlined for a woman who was probably the same age as Wayne. Her hair was dyed dark, her clothes fashionable, and her smile warm and genuine.

  “This is Linda Everhurst, my fiancée,” Wayne said.

  His what? “Nice to meet you, Linda.”

  “The pleasure is mine. And this must be your fiancée,” she said, turning to Emma.

  “This is Emma De
Witt,” Mark said, physically unable to say my fiancée as an echo to what he’d just heard.

  “Of course it is,” Linda cooed, giving Emma a hug. “I was in Beachside Beauty yesterday, and two of the women from the reunion were getting their nails done and, of course, we gossiped.” She clasped her hands as if delighted. “So lovely to meet you. You must come in, now, and see the house. And catch up.” She had an arm around Emma. “I hear you are an adventurer like Mark. So exciting. Have you jumped from an airplane?”

  She swept Emma away toward the walkway, leaving Mark and Wayne a few steps behind.

  “She’s a bit of a human whirlwind,” Wayne said with a soft laugh. “She moved in and took over my life two years ago. Remodeled the whole damn house like we were on some kind of home makeover TV show.”

  Mark just stared at him, barely able to take in how fantastic he looked. How happy he seemed. “You’re doing so great, Wayne.”

  The other man gave a tight smile. “Does that bother you, son?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I just…imagined it was tougher.”

  Wayne’s hazel eyes softened. “It was tough. Losing Julia, and then Betsy. But after a few years, I was just plain tired of being sad and lonely. So you know where I went?”

  Mark shook his head, having no idea.

  “Well, where would you go if you were sad and lonely?”

  To the highest mountain, in the fastest car, down the steepest rock, through the roughest white water. That’s how he detoured around sad and lonely.

  “LoveInc.com!” He gave Mark’s arm a punch. “How could I go to any other website than the one that bought my daughter and son-in-law’s company?”

  “You went…online? For a relationship?”

  Wayne chuckled. “Hey, you practically invented the concept.”

  “I didn’t invent it, but…” He sure as heck hadn’t expected his father-in-law to use it. But, then, why not?

  “I went looking for a change in my life, and look what I got.” Wayne swept his hand toward the house.