by Toni Blake
Through it all, though, she stayed aware of the man steering the boat, aware of the magnetic pull still connecting them even in this moment. She thought about the fact that his parents had died in some tragic way. She thought about how he’d touched her in the water earlier, and how connected she’d felt to him, how connected she’d continued to feel as they’d snorkeled together, as he’d helped her and guided her. And she thought about how, despite all that, she truly had no idea where they stood now.
As he skillfully maneuvered the large catamaran into its slip behind the motel just as dusk began to fall, the girls putting on their bathing suit cover-ups and everyone gathering their belongings as they thanked Reece for a great time, Cami had no idea what came next between them. When the group began exiting the boat a few minutes later, she grabbed up her beach bag and followed the rest down the little extendable plank to the wooden dock, aware Reece was behind her.
After they all crossed the dock and passed the pool, then entered the breezeway that led to the front of the Crab, goodbyes were said and Cami started toward her room. And, walking past the office a few seconds later, she became aware that Reece was accompanying her.
In one way she liked that, of course, but in another, it left her disgruntled. She’d never liked guys who sent mixed messages, and things were feeling pretty mixed with him right now. As close as she’d felt to him in the water earlier, she couldn’t forget that he’d left things very abruptly up in the air. So she said casually, over her shoulder, “You don’t have to walk me to my room.”
“I know I don’t have to,” he told her. “But maybe I want to.”
Hmm. “I’m a big girl,” she said anyway.
“And I’m a gentleman.”
“Debatable,” she retorted, glancing over at him.
His scrunched lips told her he was weighing her response. “Fair,” he agreed then, “but here we are.” And indeed, they’d just reached Room 11.
She shrugged, then dug to find the crab keychain in her bag. Holding it up, she let her eyes go sarcastically wide as if to say, Got it, so guess we’re done here. “Well, goodnight,” she told him.
She turned her attention to the door lock, but in her peripheral vision thought he appeared a little confused. “You seem . . . pissed.”
“Pissed would be a strong word. More like . . . just ending the evening.” Then she gave him a sizing up look, trying to read him—what was he expecting here? “You weren’t . . . planning on a goodnight kiss or anything, were you?”
He tilted his head, narrowed his gaze. “It had crossed my mind.”
“Are you still thinking? About us? About whether it’s worth it?”
“Yep.”
“I’m not interested in kissing while you’re thinking,” she said. “And about that thinking, I wouldn’t take too long on that if I were you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why? Checking out soon?” He’d asked with the same hopeful tone he’d have used a couple of days ago, but she was at least pretty sure he was kidding about that part now.
“No,” she said. “But I may withdraw the option.”
He smiled teasingly. “Is that a threat, Tinkerbell?”
She met his gaze, returned the small, confident smile, and gave the obvious answer. “No—a promise.”
He emitted a light chuckle at their banter and she went on. “If you don’t think I’m worth whatever risk you feel is involved, then I don’t think you’re worth getting any closer to. That simple.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Is there a deadline?”
“Yes.”
“When is it?”
“Soon,” she said.
He balked. “Soon? That’s all I get?”
“Yes.” She shoved her key in the lock and turned it. “Goodnight, Reecie Cup.” Then she opened the door, went inside, and shut it behind her.
ONCE inside, she leaned her back against the door and let out an emotional breath. She didn’t really like issuing an ultimatum, because she still really, really wanted him. But on the other hand, a girl had to have standards and had to know what she was worth.
Yes, this was a powerful chemistry that the soft, girly part of her wanted so, so badly to bring to fruition. But the other her, the tougher her she’d always known, demanded a guy’s respect. And didn’t want to be yanked around.
So she didn’t regret the ultimatum—but for some reason it had stolen her breath, much more than, say, a high-power negotiation on which millions of dollars rode.
Maybe you’re just a little more confident about your career than your personal life.
But Reece doesn’t have to know what.
She flipped on a light—then gasped at the sight of a yellow cat standing silently at her feet.
“Oh my gosh—I forgot about you!”
“Meow,” he replied.
Then she added, “Sorry—it’s nothing personal. Just a lot on my mind.” And she supposed now that she probably should have left a light on for the cat, but how would a non-cat person know such a thing, so she tried not to feel bad about it.
“Anyway, time to take you home. Well—home to the restaurant.” She tried not to feel the cat’s homelessness. He was a cat, after all—he wasn’t Riley.
Bending to scoop him up in her arms, she opened the door and glanced out, looking in both directions to make sure Reece was gone from the dimly lit sidewalk that lined the rooms. No sign of him, so she took a few steps out—only to see that the Hungry Fisherman was dark, closed up for the night. “Damn,” she whispered.
Then she peered down at the cat who seemed so content in her grasp. She supposed she could just set him outside the restaurant’s back door. There were probably nice fish scraps in the garbage cans there. And it was plenty warm out, and dry, too.
And yet . . . she’d gotten him from Polly, so she decided it wouldn’t feel right not to just officially return him to Polly. Not that she liked the idea of keeping the cat overnight. But . . . he really wasn’t any trouble.
So as she stepped back into her room, she peered once more down into his eyes—which she suddenly noticed were a wide and vibrant blue—and said quietly, “Guess we’re roommates for the night. But don’t get too comfortable here.”
Of course, maybe she should tell herself that, too.
She lowered the cat to the bed, then headed for the shower, her thoughts returning to Reece—and the secret she’d learned from Christy. She’d only been able to examine the news in a scattered way so far, in the midst of everything else going on.
The taking-care-of-business part of her wished she could just ask him about it, find out the facts. But she couldn’t let on she knew—she wouldn’t betray Christy like that. Still . . . what on earth had happened? And was that what not selling was all about—preserving something that his family had created? If she knew the whole story, would it make her abandon this acquisition? It remained hard to imagine anything could make her want to do that. As she’d told Reece today in the water, it could very well cost her job.
Not that she thought Phil would fire her over it—but he’d be enormously displeased and she could very well be demoted. It would change everything about how she was regarded at Vanderhook, the only place she’d ever worked outside of a Dairy Queen in her hometown and a drugstore in Lansing during college, and the only connection in her life that felt like home or family to her.
You shouldn’t have to be afraid that someone you consider family will demote you.
But then, she supposed she didn’t know as much about family as most people did.
Maybe finding out about Reece’s family wouldn’t affect her at all when she thought about it like that. Maybe it would only remind her how disconnected she usually was from people, places, emotions.
After the quick shower, she put on a ribbed tank and cotton drawstring pants, then ran some fresh water in a glass from the bathroom and set it on the floor for Tiger, along with a crumbled up peanut butter cookie on a napkin—the only food she had in the room
at the moment. After saying goodnight to the cat, she turned out the lights and climbed into bed.
In one sense, she liked how quiet it was here at night—it wasn’t nearly so peaceful at this hour in Buckhead, even in the residential area where she lived. It was part of a city, and that just made it different.
Will it be so quiet in this spot when a twenty-story Windchime Resort is sitting here?
She shook her head against the pillow. What did it matter?
Then she rolled over in bed. What is wrong with you? Worrying about how quiet someplace you really have no connection to is at night? Examining all these emotions? Worrying about a guy you don’t even know that well? Worrying about a cat, for God’s sake? Do you even know yourself anymore?
There’s nothing wrong with being tough inside—it’s a good thing.
And maybe she should just get back to being that way. Once and for all.
Like her ultimatum to Reece. That had felt more like her old self. Even if underneath it, she’d been secretly wishing he’d just kiss her anyway.
But still, tough is good. Tough is good. Tough is good.
When a warm pressure met her hip, she gasped, then figured out it was the cat. “Wh–what are you doing?” she whispered.
Then she sensed him curling against her, settling into the curve of her waist. And she couldn’t deny that something about that, about just knowing the cat wanted to be next to her, was . . . unexpectedly nice.
Tentatively, she reached down, her arm atop the covers, and let her palm gently come to rest on the cat, in his thick fur. Like earlier, he began to purr, and despite herself, she liked feeling that silent but sure connection.
Then it hit her all over again.
Oh God—who am I?
I don’t even know anymore.
All are keeping a sharp look-out in front,
but none suspects that the danger may be creeping up from behind.
J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy
Chapter 13
THE NEXT morning, she got dressed and made the short walk to the bakery up the way. She bought three glazed donuts, two for her, one for Tiger. She didn’t know if cats liked glazed donuts, but she supposed she’d soon find out. “If only there were fish-flavored donuts,” she told her feline friend upon her return, “then I’d know exactly what to get you.”
Tearing one of the donuts into small, cat-bite-sized pieces in a small glass bowl designed to look like a seashell from the bedside table, she lowered it to the floor. She’d also bought a small carton of milk, so she poured a little of that over the donut bites for good measure. She didn’t know much about cats, but she at least knew they liked milk.
Tiger lapped at the milk like a maniac, then nosed at the donut bits, then resumed lapping the milk, so she nudged his little orangy face aside long enough to pour in a bit more. And as she ate her own breakfast, she kept glancing down to see that eventually the cat experimented with eating the soggy donut bits and that by the time she finished her breakfast, he had too—his bowl was empty and had literally been licked clean.
She smiled down at him. “You are a donut eater!” Maybe being a cat person wasn’t so hard. Maybe, like many things in life, it was just a little trial and error.
“But . . . I guess it’s time for you to go back to Polly.”
She felt a little bad about that in a way. I shouldn’t, though. It’s not like I have a good place to keep the cat. He was an illegal boarder at the Happy Crab, after all. And surely he’d find a nice home somewhere, with someone Polly just hadn’t asked yet. And he had a much better chance of finding that home back at the Hungry Fisherman where Polly could keep right on asking people.
Scooping Tiger up into her arms, she suffered a tiny jolt of melancholy, but looked down at the cat and said, “You’ll be fine.”
“Meow,” he said. And it sounded like a plea.
“You will,” she insisted. “Because you have to be and that’s all there is to it. Got it?”
He didn’t reply—but that’s okay, because he’s a cat and they don’t really reply—and she stuffed her room key in the pocket of her shorts and, with a quick look up and down the sidewalk outside her door, she set out for the restaurant across the blacktop.
It was early, only a couple of cars parked off to one side, and she assumed those belonged to restaurant staff, so she figured it would be safe enough to carry Tiger in the front door.
So it came as a surprise when she strolled in to see Polly standing with a man in khakis and a button-down shirt holding a clipboard.
Polly’s eyes nearly leapt out of her head as they met with Cami’s. “I’m very sorry,” she said rather forcefully, “but we can’t have animals inside our restaurant. You’ll have to leave your cat outside!”
Cami blinked. Then tried to get hold of herself. “Um, okay.”
Then she turned around and walked right back out the door, Tiger still clutched in one arm.
She stood outside, trying to wrap her head around this. Taking the cat from Polly yesterday was beginning to seem like a bigger favor than it had appeared to be at the time. What was she supposed to do with a contraband cat?
As she pondered this, the restaurant’s plate glass door swung open behind her, and out came Polly in her waitress uniform and beehive hairdo. “Good gravy, I’m sorry, hon,” she said, her tone of voice closer to the one Cami was familiar with. “The health inspector came back again today! That was him standin’ there. He found a few discrepancies and gave us a chance to fix ’em after he left, but he’s still examinin’ other things. Kind of a stickler. So when I saw Tiger, I didn’t know what else to do.” She shook her head, glanced down at the cat. “Sorry, Tiger.” Then she lifted her gaze back to Cami’s. “He saw you out here lookin’ bewildered and suggested I might want to make sure you were okay.”
“I’d be more okay,” Cami said, attempting a smile that probably didn’t come off quite right, “if I knew what to do with this cat.”
“I know, I know,” Polly said, regret filling her voice. Then she gritted her teeth slightly, and asked with wide, hopeful, bordering-on-begging eyes, “Can you just keep him today, too?”
Cami let out a sigh. She supposed it wasn’t that inconvenient, but . . . “What if Reece finds out? I’ve told him I don’t need maid service every morning, but for all I know, the maid will come back today.”
“If he finds out, I’ll take full responsibility,” Polly promised.
So Cami looked down at the cat, informing him, “Looks like we’re still roommates.”
“Meow,” he answered.
“I think he really likes you,” Polly said.
AFTER Cami met Christy for lunch at a small deli and ice cream shop near Christy’s home, the two proceeded to Christy’s cottage on picturesque Sea Shell Lane. Both sides of the small street were lined with modest but well-kept pastel cottages of pale blue, warm peach, butter yellow, and sea green. The lane came to a dead end at the beach, where a weathered wooden staircase nestled amid beach shrubs led down to the sand.
“This is so lovely,” Cami said as Christy led her up the walk to the little green cottage she shared with Jack. The homes were small, far less sizable than Cami’s Atlanta townhouse, but they oozed with a charm that called to her.
“We love it here,” Christy said. “The beach access is wonderful, and the neighbors are friendly.” She pointed across the street to a home painted a soft shade of blue with a wide porch facing the ocean and said, “I think you know Fletcher, right? That’s where he lives, and Tamra, the artist, is next door to us.” She motioned to the right.
Just as Cami was looking, Tamra walked around the side of her home to the well-manicured front yard. Her long, curly hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and she wore gardening gloves and carried a trowel. Then Cami noticed the tray of nursery flowers near the porch and other signs of Tamra being in the midst of a gardening project.
Christy waved to her neighbor, so Cami did, too. But if she wasn’t mistaken, T
amra’s return wave felt a lot more friendly when her eyes were on Christy than when they shifted briefly to Cami. But that’s okay. She was sure the other woman was just being protective of Reece. Really, she was lucky so many people in Coral Cove had been so kind to her given how much they loved Reece and that most of them knew why she was here.
And that was when it hit her. Hadn’t Juanita, the maid, said the house she cleaned for Reece was on Sea Shell Lane? If she was right, she of course wondered which one it was—not that it mattered, but it was difficult not to be curious. And she was tempted to ask Christy, but thought better of it under all the weird circumstances. She didn’t want to make the younger woman feel any worse than she already did over giving away something personal about Reece he hadn’t chosen to share.
Once inside the cute green cottage, Christy showed Cami a collection of the jewelry she’d made using old pieces she picked up at thrift stores and flea markets. She melded pieces together to make chunkier necklaces, bracelets, and broaches that nearly took Cami’s breath away. “Exquisite,” she exclaimed, truly impressed with Christy’s skill and talent.
“I’ve never been creative in tactile ways,” Cami said, “so I admire people who are.”
“I’ve always loved working with jewelry,” Christy told her. “And Jack does a lot of carpentry and home repair stuff, both for us and for friends, so it’s nice that we both have that ‘working with our hands’ thing in common. It’s kind of what brought us together, actually,” she concluded. And Cami thought of her and Reece. And that what had brought them together sounded way less romantic.
But then, we aren’t really together.