by Liz Johnson
Facing straight ahead, he nodded. “Hey. You can’t resist the chance to spend some more time with me.”
She massaged the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger.
She hated when he was right.
And she hated that she really did want to spend the day with him.
After their ice cream and beach trip, things had been different between them. More playful, less intense. More open, less congested. More fun. Period.
“Why are you such an easy target?” she asked herself as she stomped up the steps behind him.
“You say something?”
“No.”
His lips pursed to the side as he waited for her at the landing. He didn’t believe her, but that didn’t keep him from moving along. “Want to carry my toolbox or the rack?” He motioned to the giant metal box the size of a large cat carrier. Beside it sat what looked like fifty pounds of wire pieces cut into odd shapes and sizes.
“You want me to carry one of those?”
“Well, I’m not going to do your work for you.” He blinked twice, his mouth straight and delivery completely solemn.
“How about you tell me which tools you’ll need for this job and I’ll just take those.”
He scratched his chin. “I’m not quite sure yet exactly which we’ll need. I might need them all.”
“A pipe wrench? You’re going to need a pipe wrench to hang these shelves?”
He shrugged. “You never know. They look pretty complicated to me. But Jack told me you said something about wanting to put racks into the closet in the room next to the green one. Really, I think this is more your project than mine. But I’ve decided to give you a hand.”
She narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think Jack would agree. Care to ask him?”
“I’m happy to. He’s off on an errand—which he promised me was not another trip to the bank—so we’ll waste the whole morning waiting on his decision if you’re not willing to carry your own weight.”
“Literally.” She pressed the toe of her shoe to his metal box. “That thing has to weigh almost as much as I do.”
He shrugged in an “oh well” movement, and she shoved his bicep, the muscle firm beneath the lightweight cotton of his shirt. Her push did nothing to budge him. In fact, he only leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Well, maybe we should find out.”
“What—”
He grabbed her waist, throwing her over his shoulder as she screamed and smacked at his back.
“Put me down, you jerk.” But the laughter in her voice left her words impotent.
He scooped up his toolbox and the shelves in one hand and ran up the main staircase, his breathing never labored. She grabbed at his waist to keep from toppling off his broad shoulder, the muscles in his back flexing and bunching beneath her hands. He walked into the room and dropped his cargo on the floor in one stoop.
Back on her feet, Marie straightened her clothes, her shoulders still shaking with laughter.
Kneeling in front of the gray kit, he glanced up at her. “You definitely weigh more than my toolbox.”
“Watch it, Sloane.”
He winked at her, pulling a screwdriver, tape measure, and pencil from the top tray. “I’m only teasing. Now help me measure and mark the height of this thing.”
The closet wasn’t intended to be a walk-in, so when they both squeezed into it, the air vanished. If Seth had seemed big when she was slung over his shoulder, he positively dwarfed her in the confines of the closet. The muscles of his neck flexed as he turned toward her, holding out the end of the yellow measuring tape.
He pressed the lip of it to the corner as he squatted to the floor. Looking at the ceiling, she tried to find anything more interesting than the way his hair flopped to one side. Or the way the light shimmered off it.
Her fingers were inches from touching the sleek strands when she jerked away. She couldn’t just run her fingers through his hair.
Well, he just snatched you up and hauled you upstairs. Surely you’re free to touch him.
That was a good point.
She bit the corner of her bottom lip and held her breath as she reached for the top of his head. Just. A. Touch.
She trailed one finger along an errant lock. It was thick and sturdy, like Seth.
Suddenly his hand zipped up to hers, his callused fingers twining around her wrist. Her scream caught in her throat as he tilted his head and met her gaze with narrowed eyes. Pushing off the floor, he rose slowly before her, just inches away. Every moment was an eternity, his eyes never blinking as his face drew even with hers, their lips a breath apart. He kept going until he towered above her. Forced to crane her neck, she refused to lose eye contact, to let him win whatever unspoken contest she’d started.
Never looking away, he twisted his hand until his fingers pressed against her open palm, then between her fingers. Their hands flush, he squeezed ever so gently, his eyes flashing at the same moment.
The touch was so much more intimate than she’d imagined after months of avoiding any kind of contact. Sparks flew up her arm, stealing her breath. But she hadn’t been breathing anyway.
After dropping the measure into his pocket, he lifted his free hand to her cheek, trailing a finger around the edge of her ear until her rebellious hair stayed in place. His touch left a trail of fire as he dragged his finger along her jawline, achingly slow. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
He felt it too.
The pull was too strong, and she suddenly couldn’t keep her eyelids all the way open. They dropped to half-mast, leaving her only a view of the pointed line of his jaw and mouth. Training her gaze on the little scar near his chin, she readied herself for what was coming. Oh, how she wanted him to kiss her. To feel safe in the arms of a man. To be protected from the world, even if only for a moment.
He licked his lips, his pink tongue darting from right to left as a muscle in his jaw jumped.
And then he leaned forward, his face hovering above hers.
This was her chance to escape. Her chance to say she wasn’t ready or didn’t want this. Her chance to run away before her feelings galloped out of control. If she ran now, leaving later would be easier. If she ran now, hearts didn’t have to be wounded and her memories of this home would be happy.
Instead she pressed onto her toes, steadying herself with a hand on his chest. His breath hitched, and she fisted her hand into his shirt, the warmth of his body surrounding her.
Seth paused just a fraction of an inch from completing the motion, suspending the kiss. In his hand Marie’s face angled even closer to him. The scent of minty toothpaste lingered on her breath, mingling with the aroma of shampoo still clinging to her damp hair.
Her satin skin set him on fire, his stomach burning with a need that he hadn’t thought he’d ever feel again. He wanted to make her laugh, to make every dark shadow in her sapphire eyes disappear.
But that wasn’t right.
If he let the flames consume his mind, he’d never be able to be objective. He couldn’t protect Jack if he let her seduce him too.
He pressed his forehead against hers. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she twisted her hand in his shirt, pulling him closer.
It couldn’t hurt.
Just one little kiss.
But one would never be enough. His gut promised he’d need just one more. And then another. And another.
He’d set himself up for a Reece repeat. Whatever Marie wanted from Jack was on the line, and Seth wasn’t about to be the cause of his uncle’s pain.
It took every ounce of his strength to tear his hand away from her cheek and set it on her shoulder, gently pressing her back to the floor. She fought him for a brief moment, uncertainty splashing across her face as she leaned away.
Space to breathe.
He gasped for oxygen, needing a clear head. But his hands weren’t willing to fully release her. Even as he stepped back in the confines of the closet, he wrapped both hands around her upper
arms.
She blinked in quick succession, her lips parting and arms wrapping around her middle.
He let out a slow breath and jammed a hand through his hair, nearly yanking out the piece that had started this whole thing. When she’d put her hand on his hair, it had been everything he’d thought it might be. Everything he’d worried it could be. It was a jolt of lightning and a crashing wave in the same moment.
How easy it would be to get swept away.
But he couldn’t let himself.
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded, her front teeth biting into her lip and turning it cherry red.
He couldn’t drag his gaze away from her mouth, wondering what it would feel like to share just one kiss.
Shaking his head, he wiped away every thought in that ballpark. He couldn’t do that. He wasn’t strong enough to stop a second time.
She tried for a smile, but it wavered, leaving only a grimace in its wake. Her eyes filled with tears, the light from the bedroom fixture making them shine.
“Listen, this is just a bad idea. You’re amazing.” He meant to keep going, but the words evaporated.
Her lips pinching together, she nodded frantically but said nothing.
His arms ached to pull her to his chest, but it would only mean confusing the situation further. “I am sorry, Marie. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”
She swallowed, the sound filling the cramped space. “You’re right. Of course. It was a bad idea. Excuse me.”
She ran from the room, her steps echoing down the stairs and out the front door. She’d be on the boardwalk. He could go to her and say something. Except there were no words that would fix what he’d just done.
He thumped the back of his head against the wall, the ache a welcome distraction.
“Just brilliant, Sloane.” He deserved every bit of his own derision. Marie didn’t deserve to be led on. He shouldn’t have made her think he wanted more.
Even though, of course, he did.
He just shouldn’t have made her think he was going to act on it.
As he wrestled the new shelves into place—alone in what should definitely have been a two-person job—he played the scene over and over in his mind. And every time he reached the same conclusion. He wanted to protect her, but he’d added to her pain in order to guard Jack. He wanted to make her happy, but he couldn’t do that and watch Jack’s back.
He leaned against the wall and scrubbed his face with an open palm.
It smelled like her lotion.
If that was all he could think about, the shelves were going to go in crooked, and he was going to smash his thumb with a hammer. He probably deserved it.
Marie avoided Seth the rest of the day, which wasn’t too difficult. He was dodging her too. When she was potting a plant in the mudroom, he’d walked in the back door. His eyes had blazed with something she couldn’t name. He’d immediately turned around, the door slamming behind him.
Jack was picking up on the tension.
“You kids okay?” he said as he forked a bite of Aretha’s leftover roast beef into his mouth that evening. His gaze went to Marie across from him then to Seth on his other side. “Haven’t said more than three words between the two of you.”
Marie nodded, unable to look in Seth’s direction without her face bursting into flames. Her hand still tingled where his calluses had brushed her palm. And every time she closed her eyes, she could feel his finger tracing the edge of her face, smell the coffee he’d sipped that morning.
She couldn’t close her eyes without her body reacting to those memories.
Just being in the same room set her skin tingling and her head spinning. It wasn’t the familiar feeling of one of her attacks. This was different, painful on a deeper level.
She hadn’t thought of her first kiss post-Derek. She hadn’t considered anything about it, really. But whatever hopes and dreams had worked their way into her subconscious, they didn’t involve being snubbed.
Or the awkwardness after.
She hadn’t known what to say after kissing her first boyfriend in high school. He hadn’t either. So they’d sat in silence for ten long minutes before running their separate ways to first-period classes on opposite sides of campus.
This thing with Seth was so much worse.
She couldn’t just run away to the other side of campus.
But she could go.
Snapping her head up, she stared at Jack, who had given up on getting a response to his question. Could she leave him? Could she go now and save them all this horrible discomfort? It would save both Jack and Seth the distress of her father’s imminent arrival, and Jack the task of sending her on her way when the chef arrived.
Her stomach lurched, and she set her fork on her plate next to a lump of barely tasted beef and two potato halves.
“Getting cold out there today.” Jack chewed another piece of meat. “Good thing we haven’t put the flowers in yet.”
“You think it’ll freeze tonight?” Seth sucked on the tip of his thumb, the nail newly black and blue. He cleared his throat loudly, giving a valiant effort to engage Jack. “Father Chuck didn’t seem to think it would get that cold.”
Jack shrugged. “Don’t know. The weatherman said we’re in for a cold one. Some front coming off the Atlantic. Supposed to hit Nova Scotia and PEI pretty hard.”
Marie tuned their words out, thinking about what she would need to do before taking off. She’d have to wait until they were both asleep, or they’d try to stop her. If she left about the same time as her typical morning run, they wouldn’t think anything was out of the norm. Then she’d have a couple hours to get to her next stop. But where was that? Someplace with a bus or a cab.
A city big enough that she could blend in.
On the island, Charlottetown and Summerside were her only options. And Summerside was well out of the way of anywhere.
She’d take her backpack and as much as she could stuff in it. Jack had insisted on buying her jeans to replace the ones speckled with paint. She could leave the old pairs behind.
Moving through North Rustico would be no problem that early in the morning. With only the cows for company, she could probably make it to Rusticoville before dawn. From there she might be able to hitchhike south.
As her plan formed piece by piece, she steeled herself against having to say goodbye. Even to Seth. But it was time. The right time. They’d make do without her. All the paint for the exterior and what was left to do in the interior had been purchased. The room of antiques was nearly overflowing, and linens had been picked out and paid for.
There were still plenty of finishing touches to put on the house—including painting the front door red. But they’d be all right without her.
And with one less salary and mouth to feed, Jack could put his money where it needed to go.
She chanted those words to herself as she washed up their dinner dishes and wiped down the counter for the last time.
“Going to hit the sack early,” Jack said, handing her a plate. “Been a long day.”
“Sure.” She took the plate and dunked it in the sudsy water, swallowing the lump in her throat. The back of her eyes burned and her voice cracked. “Sleep well.”
He nodded and shuffled toward the door, and her heart seized. She’d never see him again, this man who’d cared for her better than any other man had ever tried to. Blinking against streaming eyes, she swiped her arm across her face.
She couldn’t let him walk out of the room without a goodbye.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
He stopped halfway across the room, his white hair ruffled and his dear face sagging under the worries of the inn.
With hands still dripping wet, she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him tight. Both of his arms stayed at his side for several long seconds as she buried her face into his shoulder.
Stiff and slow, he reached around her and patted her back with solid thumps. “Ev
erything all right?”
She sniffed, blinking hard against the rush of tears. “Yes. Everything’s going to be fine.”
He leaned away, looking directly into her eyes. “Is this about Seth?”
Clamping her lips together to keep them from quivering, she shook her head.
His face pinched like he was eating a lemon as he asked, “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” The word floated on a chuckle as relief washed over his face.
“Then take care. Things will look better in the morning.”
She nodded, letting him go.
Releasing him from her hug was a lot easier than letting him go completely. Her tears were just as troublesome as she packed her bag later, stuffing each corner until the zipper strained to close.
And then she waited.
Knees tucked under her chin. Arms wrapped around her legs. Head bent until she nearly disappeared.
She knuckled away the tears again, but one slipped through, making its way along her nose before dripping off the tip. The mark that it left on the top of her shoe taunted her. But she was making the right decision. This was the best time to leave. Jack would save money. Seth would be saved any lingering embarrassment.
And she would be saved a further broken heart.
The hours dragged on, marked only by her occasional sniffles and shivers. In her basement the temperature dropped until she had to get up and move or risk freezing in place.
The alarm clock glared 4:26. As good a time as any to find her next step.
She slipped up the stairs, skipping the squeaking board, and waited on the landing. Silence filled the hallway to Jack’s and Seth’s rooms, but somewhere near the dining room the old house groaned.
Marie patted the kitchen door as she crept through the darkness. “I don’t like the cold either.” The words were more breath than sound, but the old home whined in response. Her outstretched hands brushed the counter on her way to the mudroom.
A sound like a wrench hitting a pipe made her jump, and she stared hard into the darkness. But there was no one there. She held her breath, waiting for any sound from down the hallway. Jack and Seth hadn’t woken up, so she twisted the door handle. But when she picked up her foot, her shoe was heavy and wet.