She dropped her eyes, picking shredded cabbage off a fish taco. “I don’t know. I was told . . .” She leaned her chin on her wrist. “I was told it wouldn’t be worth getting a degree for something I would never practice.”
He frowned. “Who told you that?” It didn’t sound like something a guidance counselor would say. Her parents?
She grew quiet, but this time he didn’t feel bad that he’d asked. He just waited.
Eventually she spoke. “You know how you said that attaching a reason to something hard helps you let it go?”
He nodded. She had been listening, then.
“Well, I’m really having a hard time doing that with something. But I’m trying. And this . . . someone who told me that is part of it all.”
She looked at her plate and took a bite of crab cake with lemon avocado sauce. She made a face.
“Did you know what branch of law you wanted to study?” he asked.
She shook her head. “It was just an idea I was throwing around. With lots of other ideas. I’m kind of off the radar for school right now anyway.” She pointed her fork at the side of her head and twirled it around. “My brain is a little off, and sometimes I say stuff I probably shouldn’t say. Don’t know if you noticed. Like that. I don’t know if what I just said should have been said. I’ll regret it later, I’m sure.”
“It is an adventure,” he said, managing to keep a straight face. This may have been the most she’d ever spoken to him at once.
“The mango stuff with this fish taco is amazing.” She took another bite of the cabbage-less taco and spoke with her mouth full. “Didn’t you say something about a salsa with the halibut?”
He started to laugh. It grew, and he laughed more. He kept it quiet, of course, but he laughed until he leaned sideways and wiped moisture from his eyes.
And she watched him, bewilderment on her face. “What is so funny?” Her brow wrinkled, and she set her taco down. Her cheeks pinked.
He reached across the table and grabbed her hand, and she looked at it.
“You’re just funny. You are. And you’re good to talk to. And I just realized I never ever laughed like this with Brenna—”
“You mean you never laughed like this at Brenna.”
“No, I mean with her, and I never really thought this hard with Brenna, and when I said my relationship with her seems superficial now . . .” He chuckled again and shook his head. “It’s because this—whatever this is”—he waggled his finger back and forth between the two of them—“it’s like putting on 3-D glasses after walking around in 2-D.” His laugh quieted.
She wasn’t laughing. “Thank you,” she said softly. She looked down. “You’re a good friend, Jace. We’re friends, right?”
He let go of her hand as she pulled it back and withdrew it out of sight, under the table.
He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Of course they were friends. That was what he’d meant.
She rolled her eyes. “That sounded like such a middle-school thing to say.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.
She smiled back, but the light wasn’t there anymore. “Will you excuse me for a bit?”
“Sure.”
She got up and headed for the restroom.
He wiped his mouth and dropped his napkin in his lap, feeling like a deflated hot air balloon. He looked at the array of food in front of him.
What the heck are you doing, Jace?
* * *
Georgie stood in the stall with the door closed, fighting tears that insisted on coming. She leaned back against the door with her hand over her mouth, not breathing because if she took a breath, the tears would follow.
Like putting on 3-D glasses after walking around in 2-D.
That was a really perfect thing to say.
She took a deep breath and blew it out.
A tear spilled.
Why did she have to be such a mess?
I hate you, Ian. I hate you. I hate what happened. I hate that I let it happen.
She obviously needed to work harder on assigning a reason to the tragedy that was Georgie Tate and Ian Hudson.
Ian could be so fun. So disarming. His confidence had been alluring. His command had been exciting. At first. She’d trusted him with her heart.
She’d trusted him.
He’d used it like a tether ball, then turned it inside out, and then he’d left her.
And here was Jace Lowe. Unassuming, flawed, surprisingly compassionate, deep thinking, and so chemically attractive she had to try really hard to stop looking at him, to stop allowing him to be so near. He wasn’t perfect. He was better.
Like he’d said: 2-D to 3-D.
And she couldn’t trust him.
Another tear fell.
Not with her heart. She wouldn’t do that to him. Her heart was bruised and ripped and erratic. And she couldn’t trust herself with his.
So that was it. She took another deep breath, and the tears stopped. She was glad, relieved that they were friends. Friends were good. Friends could be safe. She could be close, but she kept her heart. She’d have to keep her heart.
When she returned to the table, he stood. She looked at the stack of empty takeout boxes and frowned. “Are we leaving?”
“No, not if you don’t want to,” he said. “I just wasn’t sure, and the waiter asked if we needed boxes.” He looked like he was being careful, and she wanted to put him at ease. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She’d been in the restroom for a while. “I’m good,” she said. She slid into her seat and picked up her napkin. “I haven’t even tried this soup thing yet. What is it called again?”
“Cioppino,” he answered and sat back down. He pushed the wide bowl toward her and picked up his own spoon. “The broth is different. Kind of a tomato-citrus thing. But it’s good.”
She tasted it, more of a stew with white fish, clams in their open shells, shrimp, and vegetables. The taste was a mixture of sweet and tangy and salty, but it was still smooth. “Mm, I like this.”
He smiled.
She spooned up another bite. “You wouldn’t think of putting tomato with orange or whatever this is.”
He nodded. “They used saffron, but I think they used orange zest too.” He took his own taste.
“Well, maybe you could do that with the salsa for the halibut. Maybe mandarin-orange salsa or something.”
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A Cioppino-inspired salsa for the halibut. That’s a great idea.”
“Well, you know,” she pointed at herself with the spoon, “muse. Just doing my job.”
He laughed again, and she smiled. She gradually felt more at ease as they talked about the menu ideas and finished the rest of the food. It was good. It was safe. She kept her guard up.
And it all felt a little faded.
Georgie packed the takeout box in the back of the motorcycle. “Where to now? Back to Camano?” Despite everything, she had no desire to go home yet. But the afternoon had slipped by. The sun was still setting early in March, and in a few more hours, the sky would be dark.
Jace was buckling his helmet and shook his head. “Not yet.” He shifted the bike and lifted the kickstand. “We need to stop at the grocery store and pick up a few ingredients for tomorrow. And I’d like to drive out around Samish. We’re so close, it’s kind of a shame not to. Do you mind?”
She shook her head. She had no idea what Samish was. “The place names in western Washington are strange. Cle Elum. Hoquaim. Enumclaw. Kittitas. My favorite is Tukwila. It kind of rolls off the tongue. Tuk-wil-la.” The names grew on her. Like the weather. “Where is Samish?”
He studied her with an amused expression. “Just north of here. It’s a great drive around the bay. Sometimes it’s just good to get out and ride. Then we’ll head home.” He started the bike up.
Georgie still stood with her helmet in her hands, but the sound of the revving engine jolted her into action. S
he pulled her helmet on and climbed behind Jace.
He glanced behind. “Have you had a good day?”
She nodded.
“I’m glad,” he said.
As he backed the bike out of its parking space, she glanced up at the sign above the restaurant windows once more. “We are salty dogs.”
She felt him laugh.
The long road to Samish Bay took them past furrowed fields ready for planting, white picket fences, cows, aged red barns, and towering copses of pine trees. Only a couple of cars made an appearance as they traveled north toward low, gray mountains. Jace wasn’t in any hurry and seemed to relax as he drove. Maybe this, and the picturesque setting, was why Georgie felt herself leaving the anxiety she’d felt at the restaurant behind and just watching the scenery pass by. The morning mists were long gone, and a blanket of light gray clouds covered the sky. The sun was still up somewhere, but already its light dusted everything with a pale pink. It was incredible what a mere hint of sunlight could do to a cloud-covered sky.
By the time they began to see glimpses of Samish Bay, the sky had turned apricot. Dark clouds gathered on the far side of the water, but anything green shone vivid and alive. The scenery changed from rural farmland to emerald woods on the right and vast bay water glimmering between stands of more trees on the left. Jace continued driving, leaning into the curves, meandering between shore and mountain. Sometimes it seemed the trees grew right over the top of the road, and the air would cool in those shady stretches. Georgie shivered and leaned closer to the heat Jace provided.
“Hang on,” he said as they passed a sign signaling sharp curves ahead. She steadied her grip, and he maneuvered the s-curve without a problem, and when they emerged, he opened the throttle a little more. He picked up speed, and Georgie felt her grip tightening, but he steadied it out and didn’t push it any faster, and after a moment, she enjoyed the pace as they wound through the trees.
After a few more miles, Jace slowed and pulled off at an overlook. They removed their helmets but stayed on the bike, and he didn’t say anything, just sat watching the hidden sun play tricks with the clouds and the moisture in the air. Hazy pink, orange, and purple blended so softly she hardly noticed where one color ended and the other began.
Between watching the sunset, glancing at Jace’s silhouette, and pretending she wasn’t cold, Georgie hadn’t felt more a part of her world. For good or for crazy, she was on this earth, and the ideas they had for the menu were good. And some of them had been hers. She was seeing things she never had before. She was learning. And she was on the back of a motorcycle with what felt like the best friend she’d allowed herself to have in a long time.
Jace turned, then, and glanced at her. “Ready?” was all he asked.
No. I’m not. She took a deep breath. “If you are.”
He looked one last time over the bay and then back at her. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head and smiled. Liar.
He started the engine back up, and they put on their helmets. He took the same leisurely pace leaving as he had coming in. The sky was a hazy dark now above occasional street lamps. After a few tight curves, where she’d huddled into Jace, she didn’t ease her hold on him. He was too warm, and the cooler night air seeped through her rain jacket.
By the time they reached the highway, rain had started to fall. Jace dropped his head and shook it. “I’m sorry,” he called back to her.
“I don’t mind,” she replied. She wasn’t lying.
As the rain fell harder, Georgie lifted her knees, trying to bring them nearer her body as if that would protect them from the deluge. She drew even closer to Jace in an attempt to shelter him as well as her. He kept his bike at a steady speed, deftly avoiding puddles if they came up. She’d learned to anticipate his leans into the curves, and her arms moved with him around his midsection as they wove through traffic.
She told herself she felt warm and solid, but, really, she felt light. Fragile. Like if she wasn’t holding on to Jace, she’d float up like a lost balloon into the low clouds and the starless sky, all wet and shivery. He pressed his forearm against hers, wrapping his fingers around her cold hands, and her heart thudded.
No. No, no, no, don’t love this.
She closed her eyes, feeling the buzz of the engine, hearing the sound of tires on wet concrete, and sensing that if Jace were to drive her anywhere, pull up anywhere and say, Here we are, she wouldn’t blink. She’d say, How did you know I didn’t want to go home yet? And he’d say, Because I know you.
Her eyes snapped open. Because I know you. It wasn’t Jace’s voice but Ian’s that rang clear in her head.
“You’ll take the ring back.”
Georgie hadn’t answered him, but Ian persisted. “You’ll take it back before I walk you to the door and kiss you good night.”
He glanced sideways at Georgie as he drove into the canyon. “You’ll forgive me and take it back. You’ll see. Actually, why don’t we start that good-night kiss now.”
“No, Ian.” He’d begun to slow and pull off the side of the road. “Take me home.”
He chuckled and accelerated. “Fine. But you’ll beg for the ring back. Because I know you, and you’ll realize you’re nothing without me. You were made for me, Georgie.”
Bright lights and a horn somewhere behind them on the highway jerked Georgie out of the memory with a gasp.
“Everything all right?” he called back to her.
She tried to relax her hold, but her heart beat erratically, as if someone was tugging her balloon string, threatening to break her tether.
“Yes,” was all she could say.
“Do we need to stop? We can try to wait out this downpour at the gas station up here off the next exit.”
“No. Keep going. Maybe slow down a little.”
“You bet.”
And he did. His thumb caressed the back of her hand. She knew he was concerned for her and that he’d liked the day they’d had together. He’d liked the new ideas, and he was grateful. But her head spun with the new memory of Ian, of his words. You’re nothing without me. He’d said that before, earlier on when he’d sensed her pulling away, and had followed it up with how they completed each other, like in that movie. Two halves made a whole. And she’d swallowed his words like a pill, hoping they’d make her feel the same way. As if something was wrong with her because she didn’t feel it. It was a romantic thing to say. Being nothing without someone.
But that was wrong. It wasn’t romantic. It was manipulative. Selfish.
And there was the engagement ring. In the memory, it was important, but she’d never seen it again.
Sometime later, Jace pulled into her driveway. She’d tuned out her whirling thoughts by watching blurry lights go by in the dark and keeping herself tethered to Jace. But with the kickstand down and the motorcycle engine cut, she had to let him go. He was still and quiet, his hand still over hers, keeping it warm. Here the rain had slowed to barely a drizzle, and she shivered. She drew in a deep breath and slid her arms from around his waist. They removed their helmets, and Georgie got off the bike. She stowed the helmet as Jace got off the bike as well. “Thanks,” she murmured to the ground.
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
She turned to the front walk, and he joined her, his helmet in his hand.
“You okay?” he asked again quietly. Only the porch light was on; the rest of the house was quiet.
She nodded and brushed her hand over her hair. “Just, you know, haunted.”
He crooked an eyebrow at her but seemed to let it go. “Sorry about having to ride in that downpour.”
“It was fine. I’m fine . . . just tired,” she said.
Jace shook his head. “It’s been a long day. And now you’re soaked and shivering.”
“I loved it.”
He looked down at her as if she’d said something extraordinary. “I’m starting to believe you when you say that.”
She managed a small smile.
/> He returned it. They both stood shivering. She broke their gaze.
“So, tomorrow morning? Eight-ish?” he said. “I think we’ll use the restaurant kitchen this time. They’ve got some tools and ingredients there that I’ll need, and that way we won’t mess up your aunt’s kitchen.”
“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay.” He looked like he didn’t want to go. Either that, or he really wanted to go and didn’t know how to make a graceful exit. He shifted his weight and ran a hand over his face. “Well, thank you,” he said and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her in a warm hug. “You were a lot of help today,” he said softly next to her ear. “I think we can do this.”
She didn’t move, just closed her eyes, smelling his jacket, letting his warmth sink in. She’d held on to him all day, but this was different. This was him holding her, and she let him for just a minute.
He let go quickly and walked away. She watched him get on his bike, and after a small wave, he drove off, up the hill.
Two halves didn’t make a whole. Not with people. What good was half a person? Put two half people together and they just . . . they just toppled.
You’re nothing without me.
That couldn’t be true. How had she bought into that? She’d been something before Ian. With him she was . . . She wasn’t sure what she was. And now she was less, but she wasn’t nothing. Shouldn’t people be well on their way to being something before they committed to giving over everything they had, laying their hearts out to be cherished or ripped apart? How could Georgie, being half—even half sounded like a lot—how could she expect to be somebody to someone if she couldn’t even be someone to herself?
I’m more with you.
That was what it should be. That should be the wonder, the miracle of a relationship. I thought I was whole, but I’m more with you.
The thought flickered inside her, making her wonder if Jace felt like he was more with her. She shoved the thought in a box and put it high on a shelf. Those were dangerous thoughts.
Because she was half. She was less than half. And she couldn’t lose herself again.
* * *
Jace lay in bed staring at the ceiling, remembering the day, remembering the things Georgie had said, the looks she’d given him, and the unknown that surrounded her.
Kisses in the Rain Page 21