“I wasn’t different,” she whispered.
He looked up at her, and she stared out the window as light broke through a cloud and temporarily lit up the boats moored outside.
She dropped her hand and picked up the paper wrapper to her straw. She crumpled it in a little ball and rolled it around and around between her hands. “I was the same. More and more the same until I wasn’t different anymore.” She dropped the paper ball and flicked it to the side. It hit the salt shaker and fell. “And I was still wrong.” She frowned, then rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Forget it.” She shook her head and made a face. “Sorry.”
But it did matter. “It was wrong that you were made to feel that way,” he said, ignoring her attempt to dismiss the subject. “There are plenty of people who don’t do that. Not intentionally or over and over. I mean, can you imagine squeaky-clean Tyler making anybody feel like they don’t matter?”
She slowly smiled and shook her head. “No.”
“That kid stops the sprayer a dozen times a shift to open the back door for the people going outside.”
She laughed quietly. Again she looked out the window.
Carefully he asked, “Do you think I would treat anybody that way?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.
She looked down and picked up the wadded-up wrapper again. “At first I thought maybe. But it turns out your heart was just broken. We do really lame things when our hearts are breaking. Did you know that?” She peeked up at him. “I’m in therapy.”
Again his brow lifted. That was a big thing to share. “From your heart breaking?”
She leaned her chin on her wrist. “I’m not sure. Partly.”
“What lame thing did you do while it was breaking?” As soon as he asked it, he wished he hadn’t. She’d answered so few of his questions. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to ask her very much.
But as she considered his question, her eyes became moist and she bit her lip. She turned back to the window.
Nice going, Jace.
The waitress appeared with their order, and Georgie sat up, brightening her expression. “Looks good.”
He nodded, but he had little appetite. He smiled his thanks to the waitress, and after she left, he leaned forward. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She looked at him and brushed her hair off her forehead. He noticed the thin pink scar above her left eyebrow. He’d seen it before when she’d pushed her hair out of her eyes, but now he wondered how she’d gotten it. He met her gaze, hoping she believed him.
“I know you didn’t mean to,” she said. “As you’ve witnessed, I get upset fairly easily. It’s part of my charm.”
Jace noted her sarcasm, but the gleam had returned to her eyes, and that encouraged him. He thought about what she’d said. That she was in therapy. He was glad she was getting help. He wasn’t sure what else was spinning around in that head of hers, but some of it had to be pain.
Georgie picked up a coconut shrimp and dipped it in the mango sauce. Before she took a bite, she asked, “What do you think makes your dad, or anyone, think that their way is the only way?”
Jace shook his head, not sure what to suggest. His dad wasn’t a jerk. Or an egotistical blowhard, though Jace had known a few of those in his lifetime. He had to answer because he thought she’d dropped the subject, but here it still was. “With my dad . . . I think he’s just stubborn. He takes a lot of pride in doing things exactly how they’ve always been done. Maybe he feels the thing he works so hard for is threatened when something new is introduced. Like . . . a change will topple the tower, you know?”
She nodded. “Like Jenga. I used to play that game all the time as a kid. I can hardly stand it now.” She took a bite of the shrimp and chewed. “Mm. That’s good.” She swallowed. “Not as good as crunchy black pepper shrimp with lime and blackberry sauce.”
He smiled and lifted his fork to taste the rockfish. He was looking for a crispy edge. Not dry but lightly caramelized. Halibut was meatier, denser than rockfish, so it might hold up to a more intense flame than the rockfish. He chewed. It was tender but missing the crisp edge. Maybe grilling would be better.
His mind turned to what Georgie had said about Jenga. Somebody—someone controlling—had made her feel that her ideas didn’t matter, that her way of thinking was wrong. But she was here now. And from what he’d observed, she’d surrounded herself with people who wouldn’t treat her that way.
He helped himself to a shrimp. “I invited you along today, this whole week, because I think your ideas are really good. And different is what I need—”
She dropped her fork with a clatter as she was cutting into the rockfish.
“—for the menu,” he finished, watching her curiously.
She had already picked her fork back up and was busily scooping a portion of fish onto her own plate. “Of course for the menu,” she said a little breathlessly. “Glad I could help. Or whatever you call this that I’m doing. Muse—ing.” Her cheeks were splotchy. “Because I know so much about”—she held up a forkful of fish—“shearing versus grilling.”
He hid his grin. “Searing.”
“That’s what I said.”
Dang, she was aggravating and fascinating and undeserving of whatever it was she’d been through. He shook his head in disbelief and leaned forward. “I’m sorry somebody made you feel—”
“Like a puppet,” she murmured and took a sip of water.
He remembered the mouse she’d been when she’d started at the restaurant, but he couldn’t imagine her taking something like that lightly. “What happened when you stood up for yourself?”
Georgie wiped her mouth with her napkin. She pushed a shrimp around on her plate, and the frown returned. She answered him but kept her eyes on the window. “The tower toppled.” She visibly shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “It crashed into a million pieces.”
He didn’t dare ask her more. Something in her tone warned him he’d come close enough.
* * *
Out the window, Georgie watched the clouds swallow up the sun. A new boat maneuvered along the moorings and glided toward a spot just beyond the restaurant’s outdoor deck. She held her breath as the captain steered the boat into place, stopping as the buoys compressed against the wood dock, cushioning the impact. A woman jumped out and expertly tied off the boat as the man shut things down and locked things up. He met the woman on the dock, handed her her bag, and kissed her, and arm in arm, they strolled away, heading for shopping or lunch.
“Georgie?”
She turned and found Jace standing with his hand held out to her. She glanced at the table, now cleared of their plates. The bill was signed and waiting for the waitress to pick it up. A mint sat on the table directly in front of her. She grabbed it, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth.
Where had she been? She ran a hand over her hair and reached for her jacket on the seat next to her. “Did you find any inspiration?” She didn’t remember eating the rest of the food.
“A little. Let’s walk. I’d like to take a look at a few more menus before we head back to the bike.”
She looked again at the hand he held out for her, and again she took it before he changed his mind.
He helped her up and this time didn’t step away, so for a moment, they stood with only their arms pressed between them.
“Are you okay?” he whispered close. He searched her eyes, concern etched in his brow. His lashes were short and curled up.
She nodded. “I liked your beard,” she said. “It made you look more like you.”
A slow smile came to his face. “It’ll grow back. Come on.” He didn’t drop her hand, and he kept her close, guiding her out until he got the door for her and they exited the restaurant. Once outside he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and motioned with his elbow for her to keep up. She did.
“I decided not to go with a breading on the pork chop. Maybe a glaze.” He peeked at her. “A honey glaze.”<
br />
She smiled at the ground. “And the halibut?”
“Still haven’t decided yet. Let’s see what we find in Anacortes.”
Georgie glanced around as they walked. “Why do you think this place is on the top-five-kissing-places list? How do you even make a list like that?”
Jace stopped and looked at her like he didn’t know what to think of her.
She felt the heat rising in her face. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
He laughed. “Come on.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the south.
Her heart pounded, not knowing what he would do to answer the questions she’d posed. “I was just wondering. It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, but it does. You’re questioning the very roots of tourism in this part of the world, and the city must answer.”
He was almost jogging, and she was barely keeping up. They came to the east side of the Rainbow Bridge, a red metal structure spanning the Swinomish Channel. He continued across, hardly pausing.
“Where are we going?” she asked, looking back toward the side they had just left and then down at the water. Not anywhere near as high as Deception Pass, thank goodness.
“I’m not sure. I’m just having a look.”
She was getting winded. “This is having a look?”
“You bet.”
They approached the far side of the bridge, and he stopped. They turned to look back at the main part of town, catching their breath. They stood significantly higher than the marina.
It mostly looked like a little, quaint, gray fishing town, but where the sun poked through the clouds, splashes of color lit up masts and ship flags, baskets of flowers and shop signs. Beyond the town nestled in pine trees, the mist veiled acres of green fields, and then beyond that, a large mountain rose from a forest of dark, obscured woods painted with glaciers of white.
Storybook. That was the description that came to her mind. Once upon a time.
“So, I guess,” Jace said between breaths, “imagine this at sunset. And there you go.”
She held her hand very still in his, not wanting an involuntary movement to give him any encouragement . . . or discouragement. “All it needs is a couple of swans,” she murmured.
“Trumpeter swans come through a little later in the year.”
She stifled a laugh. “Of course they do. What mountain is that?”
“Baker.”
“So . . . top five, huh?”
“Yup.”
After a couple more long minutes, he squeezed her hand and said, “Well, let’s get back.”
His tone was light, but he studied her face, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him doing that because her pulse was already racing. And she was pretty sure her ears and nose had blossomed into a brilliant pink.
She looked down, and they began their long, quiet walk back to the other side of the channel. As they walked and stopped at restaurants to pick up menus and made small talk, Georgie couldn’t help but notice all the places, all the corners and waterfronts and flower-selling kiosks, where a kiss might be perfect.
Curse you, Delia Stroud. And your patchouli.
Chapter 16
The trip to Anacortes wasn’t that long. Jace took Reservation Road up from La Conner. The landscape changed several times, from dense woods to farmland to a stretch of auto dealerships, and then, through more trees, they saw glimpses of water.
“Is this the way to Deception Pass?” Georgie asked behind him, above the sounds of the highway.
He nodded. “If we dropped south, here in a couple miles, we’d eventually end up at Deception. But we’re going north. Did you want to go there?”
“No. I just recognized it.”
“Did your family take you?”
“No, Tyler did.”
“That sneaky little dishwasher.” It was a joke, but he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that rose up.
Georgie said nothing. He had no idea what she was thinking, but he was having a hard time not considering things he shouldn’t be considering. She’d brought up that kissing thing, and it had somehow opened up a surge of . . . challenge? How was he supposed to consider kissing as an unapproachable subject—an unapproachable anything—now? She’d brought it up. He’d walked away from Delia and shoved it aside as unapproachable. And now it was all he could think about. He turned north. He didn’t think Anacortes had any “best of” lists. No “top-ten places to make out” or “best parking in Washington, if you know what I mean.” Not that they could park with his motorcycle. Not that they should.
Not that he should be thinking about this.
He shook his head, even more aware of Georgie’s light grip. He’d let go of her hand soon after they’d turned around on the bridge, sensing her uneasiness, and he’d told himself he needed to be more careful with that. It had just seemed so natural. And not a big deal, really, to take her hand.
He cared about her, and she’d been treated poorly, and maybe he wanted to remind her that not all guys were like that. Maybe he just needed to prove that for the sake of his gender. Maybe he was protective of her.
But maybe she didn’t want him to be. And if she didn’t feel comfortable when he took her hand, then he wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t kiss her.
And here he was again at kissing.
Thanks a lot, Delia.
He continued through the town of Anacortes onto Commercial Avenue. About six blocks up, he found a place to park and cut the engine. He took a deep breath to clear his head while Georgie got up and stretched.
She removed her helmet. “Swell Food for Salty Dogs,” she read out loud.
He removed his helmet and looked at the sign above the windows of Adrift, the restaurant he’d been wanting to check out for a while.
“Are we salty dogs?” she asked.
He smiled and stowed their helmets, locking everything up. “Let’s find out,” he said.
They walked up to the old pale-blue building with white trim, and she brushed her fingers through her somewhat tangled hair. He tried not to let it distract him.
“The storefronts on this street all look like they were built in the 1800s,” Georgie said.
He nodded and held the door open for her. “The building is old, but the menu here is pretty creative.”
“Fresh?”
“Really fresh. I hope you’re still hungry. ” There were several dishes on the menu here he wanted to try, that he wanted her to try.
“I’m starving,” she answered.
“Good.” She’d hardly eaten anything at the Channel Grill when she’d withdrawn into herself. He’d try to avoid subjects that made her do that.
After they were seated and had placed their order for sodas and enough food to feed six people, he decided that for conversation, focusing on the new menu might be best.
But she had other ideas. “John told me the girl you were dating got engaged while you were dating her.”
He’d been reaching for his drink and paused. “Is there a question in there?”
She rubbed her fingers over her brow. A habit when she was unsettled. “I just wondered if that was true. Because that would be awful. I mean, how serious was it? Because you were not yourself that first couple of weeks at the restaurant.”
He looked at her, wondering why she got to ask the hard questions. But he wasn’t going to not answer her just out of spite. “Yeah, it was kind of serious. But I’m over it. So.” He hoped that would be enough to drop the subject.
She looked at him expectantly. Man, she was infuriating.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “At the time, it seemed like the end of the world. I felt used and humiliated. I mean, how do you not know your girlfriend doesn’t actually want you? We were making plans.” He shrugged. “But now . . . I guess I’m kind of relieved. It all seems pretty superficial looking back.”
“Why is that?”
He stared at her, wondering how in the heck he was supposed to answer. He had his ideas, but he wasn’t ready to
voice them. “I don’t know. You look back on something and realize things happen for a reason.”
“You believe that?”
He shrugged again. “Mostly. Maybe some things happen because you’ve got a billion people on this planet making a billion choices and life is just life. But I don’t know; putting a reason to something really tough . . . somehow makes it easier to let it go. You know?”
She sipped her cola. “Seven billion.”
“What?”
“There are over seven billion people on the planet making seven billion choices.”
“I stand corrected.”
“You’re sitting.”
He rubbed his hands over his face.
“I was on the debate team,” she said.
“That explains so much.”
She smiled. And her eyes lit up. He wondered how much therapy she needed.
“Why are you suddenly so happy?”
She shook her head, her smile still plastered on her face. And he had to smile too because it was ridiculous. He’d gone philosophical on her, generously answering her questions, and she was grinning like a kid dumping out Halloween candy on the floor.
“I forgot how much I like that,” she said.
“What? Guys needlessly spilling their guts to you?”
She pressed her lips together. “No. Not that. I’m sorry. I liked what you said.” She frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, not wanting her smile to fade. “I’m kind of getting used to your erratic mood changes. They’re endearing.”
A corner of her mouth lifted. “I’ll remember you said that.”
He leaned forward. “Now, tell me what made you so happy just now.”
She began to tell him about debate team. About going to state. About the topics she’d had to address and ideas she’d had to prove with facts and witnesses. He watched her use her hands, watched the animated expressions on her face, and she didn’t even slow down when they brought the food. She told him about her trips to D.C. and how she’d considered going into law.
“Well, why don’t you?” he asked. He had no idea how much school she’d had or where she’d gone.
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