Kisses in the Rain

by Krista Lynne Jensen

  Jace shifted nervously. “You just seemed to struggle, that’s all. You know what? You can go home if you want. You’ve done a lot. John and I can finish up.”

  “Why would I go home?” She looked around, knowing what was left. “There’s plenty to do still.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to go home?”

  She straightened up. He had somehow touched a nerve. “Only after I’ve done my job here.” She wasn’t going to have another meltdown, if that was what he thought.

  “Well, you can leave now, if that’s more comfortable for you. It’s no problem.” He poured vinegar on a wad of paper towels and turned away.

  The image of her overreaction the other night pained her, but it bolstered her determination to fight her insecurities and whatever prejudices she had assigned to Jace. The more she was around him, the more she realized how out-of-control her fears had become and how she couldn’t let them paralyze her.

  “I’ll sweep.” She glanced over at John, who had his hand over his face, mumbling something about “goddess” and “What was I thinking?” Georgie took a deep breath. “After I fix that.” She walked over to John and folded her arms. “John.”

  He turned in her direction, worried.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know how Rhea feels about you, but I can guess.”

  His brows rose.

  “I don’t think she’d mind at all if you asked her out.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And Jace is right.” Confidence raised its weary head. “Just ask her out. Be yourself. Don’t worry about looking a little nervous; some girls like that. But just . . . be real.” She nodded as his expression changed to a look of hope. “Be. Real.”

  John smiled. “I can do that.”

  She smiled back and left for the broom closet but then turned. “Oh, and if you want to wow her just a bit, you know, be smooth, find out her favorite flower, and then give her one when you ask her out.”

  John became serious. “Okay. Um, just one?”

  “Just one. One you can hand her. Trust me.” She quickly retrieved the broom and began sweeping. It was her mother’s story, and she’d heard it since she was a little girl. Her father had asked her mother’s roommate to find out what her favorite flower was. Her mother said the single sprig of lilac had melted her right on the spot. Her father always said he was lucky it was spring when he asked her out.

  She hadn’t thought of that story in a long time. She swept the debris into the dustpan. Ian had given her so many bouquets of roses. Too many.

  She turned from the garbage can and jumped when she found Jace a foot from her.

  He stepped back, a sudden look of concern on his face. He swallowed. “Sorry. I just needed to get the mop. You really can go home now if you want. John and I will finish up.”

  She nodded and raised her eyes. He looked cautious, probably afraid she’d go mental on him again. “Thanks.” She tried to convey sanity.

  She put the broom and dustpan away, then stopped in the bathroom to wash her hands. She reached back to pull out the band holding her ponytail in and sighed as she rubbed her scalp where her hair had been pulled tight. Her fingers moved to her temples, and she wished the headache would go away. It was only faint, but it hadn’t left her all evening. She finger brushed her bangs down over her scar.

  When she was done in the bathroom, she made her way back through the kitchen to do one more check of her station so everything was ready for tomorrow and then headed for the back door.

  As she pulled her jacket on, she heard Jace behind her.

  “You gonna wear that home?”

  She turned and looked down. She still wore her apron. “Oh.” She flushed. Dang it. She reached around back and tugged at the knot. Turning, she set her jacket down on the counter and reached back with both hands.

  The more she tugged, the tighter the knot seemed to get. She looked at the ceiling, hoping Jace was busy mopping the floors, wishing the knot would just undo itself and let her go already.

  “Do you need some help?” John was tilting his head, looking at the knot behind her.

  “No, thanks. I think I can get it.” She bit her lip. “I think it got wet.”

  After another few unsuccessful seconds, he asked, “Sure you don’t want any help?”

  She blew out a breath, giving up. “All right.”

  He tugged. “This is some knot. How’d you do this?”

  She blinked, looking up, just wanting to go. “I just tied it the same way I always do.”

  “Man, I don’t know. Jace, get over here.”

  She turned abruptly. “You know what? I’ll just wear it home and wash it there.” Jace was approaching, trying not to look amused.

  “I’m afraid all aprons need to be accounted for every night.” He folded his arms.

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded, his eyes touched with humor.

  She narrowed her eyes. “So is there a high rate of apron theft on the island?”

  John still tugged at the knot.

  Jace smiled then. “Only since the restaurant was featured in Sunset Magazine in 2011. We could hardly keep the kitchen stocked that year.”

  She peeked at John. “He’s kidding, right?”

  John shrugged, still at work.

  “It settled down some after The Great Grill-Off of 2012,” Jace said.

  “The Great Grill-Off?” Even as she spoke, she realized this was the most they’d ever said to each other in all their weeks working side by side.

  “It was a thing of beauty. Island-wide, grill masters came to pit their skills against one another, and, of course, where there are grill masters . . .”

  She folded her arms. “There are aprons?”

  “Six Peter & Andrew’s aprons were worn that day.”

  “That’s incredible. What happened?”

  He shrugged. “We figured it was good publicity. But we’ve guarded our aprons closely ever since.”

  “Can’t you just buy them up front?” Just inside the customer entrance, a display case showed T-shirts, aprons, and umbrellas with the Peter & Andrew’s logo.

  John gave the knot one last tug and dropped it. “I give up. You may have to cut it.” He placed earbuds in his ears, lifted a tray of clean glasses, and walked away. “Good luck.”

  Georgie lifted the neck strap over her head and brushed her hair back out of her face. She shifted the apron around backward and began attacking the knot at her waist again, this time able to see where the loops needed to be worked at. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered.

  “You’ll get it.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not sure I should believe anything you say after a story like ‘The Great Grill-Off of 2012.’”

  “Smart lady.”

  She peeked up at Jace, whose gaze shifted from the mess of hair around her face to her eyes. He stepped forward, and she stepped back, suddenly alert to his every move. But he slowed and reached past her, flipping off the switches to the music and lights over her station up front. As he pulled back, she caught the scent of him above the bleach . . . a woodsy lemon scent. He met her eyes again, pausing just inside the edge of her comfort bubble. He searched her face. “How old are you, Georgie?”

  She blinked and swallowed, not having expected the question. Her hands felt behind her for the counter she leaned against. “It’s not polite to ask a woman her age.”

  “I’ve been trying to guess.”

  His directness was a little disarming, and she wasn’t sure she liked being disarmed. “Why would you be trying to do that?”

  He shook his head, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  She lifted her chin. “Twenty-two.” What about him provoked her?

  He studied her in an unnerving manner, and she steadied her breathing, allowing her thoughts to linger on his features since he was so close. His eyes were the lightest hazel she’d ever seen.

  She glanced at his mouth and gripped the counter. “I’
m not one of your apron thieves, if that’s what you think. I don’t fit the profile. I don’t even cook, let alone grill.”

  His eyes narrowed at her admission. “Hm.” He watched her a bit longer, then nodded and turned, pushing the mop and wheeled bucket toward the broom closet.

  Georgie collected herself. “Th-that’s all?” She stepped away from the counter, having pressed herself uncomfortably against it. Her fingers began to work at the knot again.

  “Yup.”

  “No. There’s a reason you asked.”

  He paused again, then turned, folding his arms as though considering whether or not to say anything. Then he nodded. “Mostly I was just curious. But sometimes you look older, that’s all.”

  He turned toward the laundry.

  “Gee, thanks.” What every woman wanted to hear.

  He chuckled. “It’s not a physical thing.” He peeked back at her over his shoulder, then continued starting a new load. “Something in your eyes.”

  She blinked. What had he seen in her eyes? “Well, how old are you?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that but watched him now as he shut the broom closet. A loop finally budged in her fingers, and she was able to work the remainder of the knot loose.

  “See? I knew you’d get it.”

  She looked up, and he gave her a small smile.

  “You’re free to go, Miss Tate.”

  She pulled the apron away, nodding, and tossed it into the basket. Feeling his eyes on her, she reached for her jacket again and turned to him. “About the other night—”

  He stilled.

  “I, uh . . . It wasn’t about you.”

  He listened.

  “I’m just trying to get over some things and . . .” She shook her head, her heart pounding. “I know you were just trying to apologize.”

  He leaned against the counter, his hands in his pockets. “You were terrified of me.”

  “I didn’t mean to be.”

  He nodded and looked down. He glanced over at John, who was busy humming, bouncing his head as he cleaned the other grill. He went into an air guitar solo. Jace pushed away from the counter, squaring himself a small distance in front of her, and she couldn’t help withdrawing a bit. His expression grew earnest. “I’m safe, Georgie. Okay?”

  She pressed her lips together, wishing he didn’t have to feel it necessary to make that clear to her. And yet, here he was, telling her what she wanted to know. Now she had to choose to believe him or not.

  She gave him a small nod. He nodded with her.

  “Thanks.” He looked like he might extend his hand, but instead he reached up behind his neck and rubbed. “Okay, get out of here.”

  “Hey, Georgie!”

  She turned toward John. He held an earbud in his fingers. “Will you help me find out her favorite flower?”

  She nodded.

  “Thanks! Tomorrow!”

  She lifted her hood and reached for the door only to have it opened for her.

  “’Night.”

  She stepped past Jace, subdued and careful. “’Night.”

  She hurried to her car, breathing easier once she heard the back door close behind her.

  Chapter 7

  Georgie closed her scriptures and looked out the window. The view from her room wasn’t the expansive bay; it was the neighbor’s dogwood trees, but the sunlight played with the pale bark and the hint of pink in each hard little bud. She watched a small bird busy in the branches, and she couldn’t help smiling.

  A knock sounded at her door, though it was open.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Faye said.

  Georgie had to agree. It was the kind of day that proved the weatherman’s forecast of ‘mostly sunny’ an understatement. “I’m kind of looking forward to getting out.”

  “Good. When are they coming?”

  “Eleven. I need to pack up the pie. I can’t believe Tru.” Georgie had woken this morning to a heavenly smell only to find that Tru had been up early baking.

  “She makes the best lemon meringue pie. And lucky us, she believes that if you’re making one pie, you might as well make two.”

  Georgie smiled. “She’ll have to teach me. I’ve never made pie. Only cookies, and cakes from a box.”

  “I’m sure she’d be happy to teach you.” Faye glanced at the scriptures on the bed. “Find anything helpful?”

  Georgie looked at the worn brown book with the faded gold-edged pages. “Nothing specific. But just reading the words helps settle my nerves.”

  Faye smiled. “Nervous?”

  Georgie swallowed. “Yeah, a little.”

  “Well, that’s all right. Heaven knows Tyler will be too.”

  Georgie let out a small laugh. “I’m glad Megan is coming.”

  “That should certainly help.” Faye turned, and Georgie followed her out, grabbing her jacket and purse on the way.

  After finding a suitable container for the pie, Georgie checked her hair in the hall mirror. She’d grown tired of wearing it up all the time, and since she wasn’t at work, where wearing it back was required, she was wearing it loose.

  “You look very pretty.”

  “Thanks.” Georgie lowered her eyes and checked her purse. “Where is Tru? I wanted to thank her again for the pie.” Truth be told, she needed Tru because the sisters had become a comfort to her, and she was very nervous.

  “She’s down at the water, looking for shark eyes.”

  “Looking for what?” Georgie turned to the back window of the main room, but the doorbell rang before she could spot her aunt.

  “Oh, there they are. Have a great time, sweetie. Be safe.” Faye gave her a quick hug and whispered, “You can do this.”

  Faye stayed close as Georgie answered the door. Tyler looked sheepish.

  “Hey, hi.”

  “Hi, Tyler.”

  He rocked on the balls of his feet. “I, uh, have some bad news. Megan’s sick.”

  Faye spoke behind her. “Oh no.”

  “Yeah, she came down with something just before we were going to leave.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Georgie said, her stomach dropping.

  “Yeah, me too. I, uh . . .” He looked at the car behind him, still running in the driveway, “I was going to call, but she insisted I come and we go without her. Is that all right? Because if you’d rather reschedule . . .” He looked both hopeful and mortified.

  Georgie looked at Faye, who gave a slight nod and a pushing motion with her hands. Georgie looked back at Tyler, suddenly more aware of how little she knew about him. She fought the sudden need to ask Faye if she’d come with them.

  Tyler scratched his head and took a step backward. His cheeks flushed. “We could go some other time. I should have called. I’m really sorry—”

  “No, it’s all right.” She glanced at Faye again and then back at Tyler, wincing. “I just . . . haven’t been out in a while.”

  Tyler nodded, his ears turning red. “I know. Me neither.”

  Of course he hadn’t. He hadn’t been out on a date for at least two years.

  “But you know,” she said. “My aunt Tru made us pie.” She looked at the sky. “And it would be a shame to waste this weather.”

  Tyler broke into a grin. “Yeah. And Deception Pass is pretty amazing on a clear day. So you don’t mind?”

  Georgie glanced at Tyler’s car in the driveway and pushed down the knot of fear in her stomach. “No. Let’s go.”

  “Okay, then.”

  She followed him to the passenger side of the car.

  “Have fun, kids!” Faye called.

  * * *

  Georgie squinted, gripping the rail separating her from a two-hundred-foot drop to the deep blue water. The sunlight bounced all over, and she lifted a hand to shield her eyes.

  “One of the things I missed about this place,” Tyler said. “When the sun comes out, it’s everywhere.”

  She nodded, looking out at the sparkling wa
ves, the pure blue sky, the vivid colors of the pines on the islands. Even the cars passing them on the bridge seemed to glow, reflecting a brightness she welcomed.

  “Why is it called Deception Pass?” The drive north had been mostly quiet, though Georgie had made an effort to make light conversation. Tyler seemed more relaxed now that they were out in the open.

  He leaned over his folded arms to look at the channel below. “Well, there was this explorer, Captain Vancouver, who thought Whidbey Island was a peninsula. The discovery of this channel told him he was wrong.”

  That certainly explained the name. Believing something only to find out you’d been fooled. Georgie peered over the railing and felt the vertigo she experienced at great heights. The swirling water below taunted her, and gravity seemed to double its pull. She suddenly felt very small and breakable. Her grip tightened on the rail.

  “They always say, ‘Don’t look down.’” Tyler must have noticed her reaction.

  She laughed weakly. “There’s really nowhere else to look, is there?”

  “Just look out.” He pointed. “Look out there to the island. See the trees? And the . . . boats?”

  She laughed. There were plenty of trees and boats.

  “Better?”

  She nodded, feeling foolish.

  “Want to go eat?” Tyler asked.

  She nodded again. She still clung to the railing as they made their way back across the bridge, but she looked up at the sky and glanced at people seemingly unaffected by the frailty of their mortality.

  They reached what she knew was solid earth—no steel girders supporting wire and concrete over air but dirt compacted on rock, strengthened by tree roots reaching downward from centuries-old sturdy trunks. They followed the paved walk back to the parking area in silence. She glanced back toward the bridge, now obscured by trees.

  “Are you okay? You looked a little pale back there.” Tyler held the door open for her.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It was incredible. I’m just a wimp.”

  “Nah.” He grinned. “We’ll eat at sea level.”

  “Perfect.”

  As they wound down through the trees, she tried to shake the feeling that by getting dizzy she had done something wrong.

  They pulled into a little park on the water. Tyler handed her a quilt from the trunk and grabbed the food. He led her past the picnic tables and down to the beach. The rocks here were smaller than on Camano, and the thick quilt she laid out made an adequate cushion for sitting. Tyler pulled out plates, sandwiches, and a bag of chips, and Georgie found apples and bottles of Squirt. Seagulls swooped nearby, calling other birds for the possible feast.