The Lies I've Told

by J. L. Berg

  So, although I’d promised I wouldn’t act on my physical feelings toward her…it didn’t mean I couldn’t make her aware of her own. Misery loved company after all.

  “And your professional curiosity extends to questions regarding dating? Is this a normal habit of yours?”

  I made a noncommittal sort of shrug. “I’m in the business of emotions. Sometimes, it helps to know where one’s heart lies. Or where it’s been.”

  “But I’m not a client,” she reminded me. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

  Another shrug. “Call it a hazard of my job.”

  She let out an exasperated sigh as I tried not to grin. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, Billy and I never dated. I’ve always had the feeling that Billy’s tastes run a little too similar to my own, if you know what I mean.”

  We pulled off the road, avoiding the large line of cars waiting to get onto the ferry.

  “Good for Billy,” I said before asking, “So, who did you date?”

  She stepped out of the car, leaving me to follow behind her like a sad little puppy.

  I guessed I deserved that.

  We passed by several tourists making last-minute runs to the restroom and vending machines before their hour-long adventure across the sound.

  “If you must know, I didn’t date much in high school. I didn’t want any distractions and attachments when I went away to college, like my sister had with Jake. I just wanted to get away.”

  I looked around at the picturesque setting spread out before us. “Doesn’t really seem like a hellish sort of place to grow up.”

  “It wasn’t,” she admitted, slowing her gait a little to allow me to catch up. “But I always knew I wanted more. Surely you should understand that, hotshot artist man?”

  “Hotshot artist man. Now, that’s a title I could get used to.” I grinned. “Do you think that would fit on a business card?”

  She giggled slightly, making me feel like a king among men. Hearing her laugh again felt like a great victory after being turned down this morning.

  I’ll make you remember me, Millie McIntyre. Just you wait.

  “Well, here we are,” she said as I was admiring the way the sun seemed to light up every golden strand on her head.

  “What?” I managed to say, looking around before I noticed the police tape. I squinted and stepped a few feet forward, and that was when I saw it. The pitiful remains of my memorial. “Oh, this is just sad.”

  Ignoring the yellow tape, I stepped over it and felt my heart plummet.

  “I’d ask you if you date much, but seeing that look on your face right now pretty much sums it up for me. How could any woman compete?”

  I nodded. “An artist’s work is often his one true love. And this one?” I said, running my hands along what was left of the granite base. “This one was one of the great ones.”

  I didn’t know how long we were out there, but she stayed silent as I mourned.

  As I remembered.

  My hands moved over what remained and glided over what was not. I closed my eyes and recalled every chiseled edge, each hard line, and the hours it had taken to make them.

  “God, I would have loved to see it here. Finished. Whole. Where it was supposed to be.”

  “Oh!” Millie said suddenly. “I think I can help you out with that,” she said, reaching for her phone. I moved closer to her as she fiddled with the screen for a moment. “I came home not too long ago for my sister’s wedding, and when I drove in, I actually pulled off to the side of the road and took a few pictures of it.”

  “You did?” I said, feeling a bit stunned.

  “Yeah,” she answered, her eyes avoiding mine as she pulled up the photo.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I guess you could say I was sort of taken by it.”

  Her eyes finally met mine, and in them, I saw honesty. Maybe for the first time since I’d met her.

  It electrified me.

  Moved me.

  Scared me.

  Not breaking the connection I felt between us, I asked, “You were taken by it?”

  She took a deep breath and blinked. Just like that, like a rubber band snapping on the back of my hand, I felt that deep, far-reaching connection break as her eyes tore away from mine.

  “Yeah, well, because of Dean, you know? He nearly died out there.”

  I swallowed, feeling like the worst kind of moron. “Right, of course. Dean.”

  “I’m going to go grab a drink from the vending machine. Do you want anything?”

  Still no eye contact.

  And the photo she was supposed to show me was gone, the phone shoved back her purse.

  Along with her emotions.

  “No,” I answered. “I’m fine.”

  “Right. Okay.”

  But I was anything but fine.

  I turned back to look at my statue, reduced to nothing more than a pile of rocks on the shore.

  Hadn’t I learned enough by now?

  This was what people did to you.

  They used you, destroyed you, and abandoned you.

  No doubt Millie was no different.

  I needed to stop with the antics. She was never going to remember, and even if she did, so what? Neither of us would be around long enough to see it through.

  I needed to get my head back in the game.

  I was here for one purpose and one purpose only.

  To fix a problem and move the hell on.

  Aiden was quiet on our way back into town.

  Uncomfortably quiet.

  With both hands on the steering wheel, I tried to focus on the road ahead.

  I tried to focus on anything but the color of his hazel eyes under the bright summer sun.

  Or the way they seemed to speak to me in a way no one else could.

  Like he understood me without effort.

  Like he knew what I was thinking without words.

  Without explanation.

  I nearly shook my head at the idea.

  It was ludicrous.

  I’d just met the guy.

  We’d known each other less than twenty-four hours.

  Didn’t stop you from jumping into bed with him.

  I let out a frustrated puff of air, releasing it into the car like a long prayer drifting up to heaven.

  “You okay?” Aiden asked.

  “What? Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Just admiring the blue sky. It’s the perfect shade today.”

  It wasn’t much of a lie because, honestly, the sky really was putting on a show today.

  I saw his head move forward toward the window as he looked up. “It is.”

  “Do you work much with color?” I asked, suddenly curious about his profession.

  “Not much,” he said, still gazing up at the sky. There was a sadness in his eyes, something I hadn’t noticed before. Almost as if he were saying good-bye to a good friend for the last time. “I dabbled in pottery for a while when I was learning how to work with clay a long time ago, so I have some experience with colored glazes, and yeah, you do have variations in stone colors, but it’s not a vivid color like this.”

  “You work with clay?”

  He nodded, his arms folded around his chest. It made his biceps thicken, and I tried not to notice.

  I said I tried.

  Thank God I could focus on the road ahead of me; otherwise, I’d probably have drool forming around my mouth from staring at the guns on that man. Who knew stone carvers were so ripped?

  “I use it to do a rough workup of most of my pieces. It helps guide me as I’m working. Clay is easy to form. If you make a mistake, you just smooth your hands over it and work it in a different direction. Stone, however, isn’t nearly as forgiving.”

  “Kind of like a sketch.”

  “What?” His eyes turned toward me once again.

  “In design, we work up a sketch first. And then, before we cut the fabric, we’ll pin. And pin some more. Because, like clay, fabric is no
t so forgiving after it’s been cut.”

  “I forgot you were in the fashion industry.”

  My eyes rose as I briefly turned to him, the Ocracoke sign passing by us as we entered town. “I don’t remember telling you I was in fashion.”

  His forehead furrowed briefly. “I, uh, don’t quite remember either, but I do remember you told me. Just chalk it up to another mystery from our evening together.”

  “The evening we shall never speak of,” I reminded him.

  “Right,” he agreed, clearing his throat before I pulled off the road into a small gravel parking area surrounded by several ancient oak trees.

  “We’re here! Just in time for your meeting with Dean,” I announced a little too loud for the small space we were in. Sharing pretty much any space with Aiden felt too small. I wasn’t sure what it was—maybe it was his personality or perhaps it was the raw sense of curiosity I had for the man, but he just seemed to swell up and envelop any space we were in.

  Until I felt like I was gasping for air.

  Aiden looked out the window, immediately recognizing the restaurant I’d taken him to the night before. It obviously looked different during the day, the water from the bay glistening from the bright noonday sun as kayakers swam up to the dock to order lunch.

  “Right then,” he said, sounding very English all of a sudden. “Are you sure you don’t care to join us? I’m quite certain Dean wouldn’t mind the company.”

  I shook my head back and forth. “No, you go ahead. I have stuff I need to catch up on back at the inn. I don’t want my sister to think I’m falling asleep on the job.”

  I sounded like an absolute idiot.

  No, I sounded like a phony.

  Because that was exactly what I was.

  An absolute fraud.

  But I couldn’t help it. I needed to get away from him.

  Something about Aiden completely threw me off-balance. He was too perceptive. Too intuitive. And, if I weren’t careful, I’d end up right back in his bed.

  And, this time, I didn’t think I’d ever leave.

  I should have floored the engine the minute Aiden stepped foot out of the car.

  But I didn’t.

  I made the mistake of thinking like a Floridian instead of remembering where I was.

  I was in Ocracoke, a tiny blip on the map where everyone knew each other and you couldn’t go two feet without running into half of the town.

  I thought I’d be safe, grabbing a to-go order before heading back to the inn.

  God, what an idiot I was.

  I barely made it to the bar before I heard Dean shouting my name.

  “Silly Millie McIntyre! Don’t think you can sneak in here without saying hello!”

  I pressed my lips together, cursing myself for not being content with a can of soup or leftovers from breakfast this morning.

  No, I cursed Billy for making the world’s best French fries.

  I slapped on a smile and turned to greet him. “Dean!” I said, feeling genuine happiness at seeing the man who’d almost become my brother-in-law. Although no one believed for a second that Molly and Dean would have actually made it down the aisle. Not while Jake still lived and breathed.

  “How are you?” I asked, wrapping my arms around him as he wrapped his one around mine.

  I’d never seen him without his prosthetic on; he’d always been so sensitive about it in the past. But, recently, he seemed to be okay with his disability, choosing to go with or without it, depending on his mood.

  And it suited him.

  This was a lighter, happier Dean than I’d ever seen.

  “I’m good.” He smiled, taking a seat at the table he’d grabbed for him and Aiden.

  No doubt they’d already done their introductions as I snuck up to the bar. I tried to ignore the dark-haired man sitting next to him, but it was difficult.

  So very difficult.

  I cleared my throat and tried to concentrate on Dean, still refusing to sit down. I wasn’t staying.

  I definitely am not staying.

  “You look good. Could this be because of a certain lady in your life?”

  His grin widened. “Two actually,” he replied.

  Aiden kind of let out a choked laugh before realizing Dean was being completely serious.

  “Cora, my fiancée, has a young daughter. Her name is Lizzie. Those two, well, they’re my world,” he said with such conviction and ferocity.

  My conversation with Lorenzo came back in that moment, and I felt suddenly bereft.

  Nothing but a distraction…

  What would it be like to be someone’s entire world. To mean so much to another person? To have someone in your life that meant so much in return?

  “You okay?” Aiden asked, jumping to his feet, his eyes full of concern.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “Why don’t you sit down?”

  I shook my head as his hand found mine. “I’m okay. I have stuff to do. I really should be going.”

  Neither of the men was all that convinced.

  “Can it wait for a little bit?” Dean asked. “The last time I saw you was at your sister’s wedding, and we didn’t exactly have much time to catch up.”

  A small smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “If I recall, you were pretty busy during the reception.”

  He shook his head, a low rumble of a laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Had a black eye and sore ribs for a week after to prove it. Come on, please? I’ll even pay your tab.”

  I let out a sigh. “Okay fine, but I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu.”

  I saw Aiden scan his menu before looking up at me. “You know the most expensive thing on the menu is fried calamari, right?”

  I glanced down at my own menu before confirming what he’d just said. Scrunching my nose in disgust, I announced, “Okay then, the second most expensive thing on the menu. I hate seafood.”

  “Fried clams?”

  “Jesus,” I cursed. “Just order me a burger.”

  Dean laughed. “You know, I have a little girl at home who once hated seafood as much as you.”

  “Oh yeah? Let me guess; you cured her of it?”

  “What kind of fisherman would I be otherwise?”

  I shrugged. “The kind who knows kids hate seafood?”

  “You’re not a kid, Millie,” Aiden reminded me, his gaze dark and deliberate.

  “Well, I can still eat like one.”

  “Oh come on, Millie, You travel all over the world for that fancy job of yours, right? Surely, you don’t order French fries and burgers when you’re in Paris?”

  I gave Dean an exasperated look, trying to ignore the fact that I was not a world traveler anymore. “Of course not.”

  “Well, that’s a relief—”

  “In France, they’re called pommes frites.”

  Aiden broke out into laughter while Dean shook his head and said, “You’re exasperating. And that’s saying a lot. I live with a six-year-old genius.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. I’m an adult, therefore I can eat, or not eat whatever I want.”

  Billy arrived, and although Dean rolled his eyes at my plain cheeseburger and French fries, he kept his word and added everything to his tab, including Aiden’s fish and chips.

  “Do they remind you of home?” Dean asked.

  “What now?” Aiden asked, seemingly caught off guard as he had been staring off at the bay.

  “The fish and chips—do they remind you of England?”

  “Oh no, not really.”

  The way he’d said it with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes still fixated on the subtle waves rolling into harbor told me it was a topic he wasn’t keen on elaborating on.

  But Dean pressed onward nonetheless. “Do you miss it? Your home?”

  “No, not in the least.”

  It was a surprising answer. Didn’t everyone miss their home, even just a little? I knew I did.

  “Where in England are you from?”
Dean asked.

  I turned toward him, my eyes widening to an unnatural size.

  His shoulders rose as he mouthed back to me, What?

  Clearly, he wasn’t getting it.

  Maybe it was the accent, but of all people, the emotionally scared Dean should see when a person was retreating from a subject, and that was Aiden. It was as if there were a bright white flashing sign above his head that said, This Topic is Off-Limits, and Dean was blind to it.

  “Nowhere significant,” Aiden replied.

  Suddenly, I caught a wisp of auburn hair. I turned to see Cora as she made her way onto the deck, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, look! Cora’s here!” I announced rather loudly, dragging Dean’s attention toward his fiancée.

  I saw Aiden let out a breath of air. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to make him never want to return to England.

  That meant never seeing his family again.

  Does he have any family?

  I shook my head at the thought.

  Everyone has family, right?

  “Hi, everyone!” Cora said, taking the seat next to me.

  “Aiden, this is my fiancée, Cora. Cora, this is the sculptor I was telling you about, Aiden Fisher.”

  They shook hands as Aiden greeted her.

  “So lovely to meet you,” he said in a very proper way, taking her hand, which caused her to blush.

  “Oh my gosh,” she nearly squealed. “You sound just like the Doctor.”

  “The what?” I blurted out, looking from Aiden to Cora and finally to Dean, who seemed to be fairly amused with his fiancée’s behavior.

  “The Doctor,” Dean said before they all answered in unison, “Doctor Who.”

  I still had no idea what they were talking about.

  “It’s a British sci-fi show Cora and her whole family are kind of obsessed with.”

  She nodded, still staring at Aiden like he was some sort of god. “It’s kind of our thing. Star Wars, Harry Potter—pretty much anything geeky. Oh my gosh, you kind of sound like Harry Potter. Oh! And maybe that hot guy from Game of Thrones.”

  Aiden chuckled. “So, basically anyone British that you’ve seen on the telly then?”