Meant to Be Mine

by Lisa Marie Perry

  “Get a sandwich named after you?”

  “The Sick Pickle Sub. Your average sub sandwich, but with no mayo and extra mustard and double dill pickle.” Sofia peeked into the rearview mirror to see an expression of horror on Joss’s face. “Thought you liked mustard and pickles.”

  “Sick pickle?” Joss leaned forward to grip the front passenger seat’s headrest. “That’s hella insensitive, don’t you think?”

  “Gordie was my dad’s friend, a very nice old guy. My bad ticker wasn’t a secret, but a lot of folks had the idea that it was a taboo subject. Not Gordie. Naming my favorite sandwich what he did was his way of saying, ‘Hey, she’s ill and we all know it and this is her sandwich.’”

  “Never would’ve thought of it that way. Think Gordie’s still hanging around?”

  Sofia shrugged. “I tried to stop thinking about Eaves some time ago. My dad and I moved when I was seventeen, the transplant happened when I was nineteen, and the rest is…”

  “Your new life.”

  “Something like that. Ah—here we are!” She indicated a gas station tucked off the shoulder of the road to the right. “Might as well squeeze a few gallons into the tank, in case the innkeepers boot us out for trying to smuggle a dog in and we have to drive around for a place that’ll put us up.”

  Joss groaned as a fresh sheet of rain fell from the heavens. “I’m not going out in nature’s shower again,” she declared, settling back in her seat. “I want to eat, wash my hair, dry my clothes, and go to sleep. Just give me food. We haven’t eaten since Mystic. That’s just cruel.”

  “Sorry you signed up to be my friend?”

  “Never. I’ll even prove it.” Joss exited the SUV, then came around to let the dog out. “See? I’m taking Tish out for a piss. This meal, though—and I’m talking sandwich, drink, and Fritos—is on you.”

  Sofia smiled all the way to the tiny convenience store, because it felt good to do something other than harp on the past and panic about the future.

  She didn’t know what inheriting her great-aunt’s life really meant. She didn’t know what kind of secrets hung between Luz and Bautista, didn’t know how long Joss would stick around the Cape before her Wall Street lover called her back to New York. She didn’t know what she was going to do with a former show dog that could kill her with a single strategic bite.

  But she hadn’t come out on the other side of heart failure, abandonment, and shelving her dreams of a Manhattan retail career just to crumple now.

  Survive or get licked. For her there was only ever one option, and she’d survive this day rocking black leather and pink heels and eating a family-size bag of Chex Mix.

  Sofia ducked inside before the rain-speckled glass door could swing shut behind the flannel-shirted guy in front of her.

  Oh.

  The shirt covered a pair of wide shoulders and a broad, muscled back. She’d never deny it—she appreciated a good male back. A sturdy, hard, solid-looking man tempted her with fantasies that he was strong enough to hold the weight of her baggage.

  As the silver bell above the door jangled and more people shuffled in, the man continued his easy stride to the packaged-ice freezer and Sofia had to let him go. Wading into the cacophony of voices, rain drumming on the roof, and the squeak of busy footsteps on waxed tile, she searched the sparse pet needs offerings, recognized a dog food brand from its obnoxious get-stuck-in-your-head commercial jingle, grabbed a stack of cans, and let nostalgia draw her to the back of the store.

  But there was no sandwich shop counter, and no Gordie. In their place were a gift card kiosk and a Redbox. The rigged old claw crane arcade machine that’d probably been hustling locals and tourists alike since the 1990s remained. Relief, as pure and unexpected as the rain that danced on the roof, made her ache to cry.

  Quickly grabbing prepackaged sandwiches, cans of soda, Chex Mix, and Fritos, Sofia made her way to the end of the queue just before a family wearing damp I ♥ CAPE COD tees and carrying armfuls of touristy novelty stuff could squeeze in front of her.

  Mmm, and there it was again. That impressive flannel-covered back. What if he smelled as fresh as clean cotton? Or, better yet, as comforting as hot chocolate? A tiny step forward and Sofia might be able to sniff this guy.

  Sniffing strangers in gas station convenience stores was a social no-no. She shouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t…

  She did. Jutting out her chin and closing her eyes, she inhaled the scent of…tangerine incense.

  She smelled of tangerine incense. There’d been bundles of incense sticks burning during Luz’s service.

  “I’d let you stay there with your nose in my back, but I should get this ice to my boat, Sofia.”

  Sofia opened her eyes to find him watching her over his shoulder. Beyond the sexy scruff of a beard, mussed brown hair, and hard-edged gray eyes was—trouble. “Burke?”

  She’d let Burke Wolf fade into her past years ago. She’d muted their teenage conversations in her memory, had convinced herself to ignore the sharp rush of heat that rode her at just the thought of him. So why couldn’t she remember the reasons she’d walked away, instead of wanting something she shouldn’t?

  Be my Burke again—just for a second. Make me laugh. Touch me anywhere. I need something…

  Burke didn’t seem to register the pretty smile the blonde clerk had waiting for him as he took his receipt, stepped aside, and said, “I’m going to take some of the weight off.”

  Stunned, she said nothing as he transferred the snacks and dog food cans to the counter.

  “I was at Luz’s funeral,” he murmured. “I hung back, left early…”

  She nodded as though she understood, but she didn’t.

  “The last time we talked,” he said, catching her eyes with a look so heavy it pinned her, “you were covered in spaghetti sauce.”

  It hadn’t been her most charming moment. Or his. The man was as much a part of the best of her as he was the worst of her.

  Which was exactly why she wouldn’t launch herself into his arms. They weren’t friends anymore.

  “Now I’m covered in rain.” Sofia focused on the clerk scanning and bagging her loot. The crunch of the ice as Burke shifted the bag to one side didn’t warn her. Nor did she notice him ease a step or two closer.

  His fingers gently worked beneath her collar to grip the nape of her neck. They were cold from the ice, but she and her tightening nipples didn’t care.

  She was clinging to what she found in his touch, arching into it because he was comfort and arousal and danger swirled into one drugging combination.

  “I’m sorry, Sofia.”

  “About Luz?”

  “Yeah. Everything else—let it stay where we put the stuff we don’t want to talk about.”

  Sofia pried her gaze off the clerk, stole a glance at him. “It’s crowded there, you know?”

  “Fuck.” The swear was soft, but apparently loud enough for the herd behind them to grunt in offense. Stroking her neck, he said, “I know, Sofia. Damn it, I know.”

  “Let me go.”

  She was sorry when he did. But she had to survive this day standing in her own two rain-soaked stilettos—not depending on Burke Wolf to hold her up, no matter how tempting trouble could be.

  CHAPTER 2

  It struck suddenly. Anxiety gusted through Sofia, bringing with it fatigue and a sensation of painful cold.

  Debit card in hand, she froze for only a second. Then, before her mind could register what was happening, before her thoughts could gather, the tremors started.

  Damn it, not now. Not in Eaves. Not in front of Burke.

  Burke should’ve taken his ice and left when she’d told him to let her go. He wasn’t touching her now, but no, he hadn’t let her go. Now he had an up-close view to her brokenness. And she couldn’t even scream at him to leave her alone, because the panic attack had rendered her speechless.

  “Sofia?”

  She wanted to answer him, but the words were tossing around inside he
r. Trembling, she tried to accomplish two tasks: breathe, and keep the contents of her stomach from splashing onto the counter.

  When the card tumbled from her fingers, the clerk asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “Here—” Burke pulled out his wallet “—put it on my card. C’mon, Sofia.”

  Oh, hell, no. She wouldn’t let him think he could charge in and rescue her. Sweating through the coldness, fighting through the tension in her muscles and the pressure on her chest, she spoke. “I got it.” She picked up her card, held it out to the clerk with shaky fingers. “Add twenty to pump four, please. And I’m pretty sure the rain hasn’t rinsed away all the bug residue, so a few squeegee swipes wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Go nuts.” The clerk hesitated. “As in help yourself to the squeegee.”

  “Wouldn’t the attendant do that, after pumping the gas?”

  “Um, you do realize we’re no longer full-service, right? You can pay at the pump and squeegee bugs off your own windshield. Progress—an awesome thing, huh?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize that had changed.” A swell of complaints from behind interrupted her. She twisted around. “I said I didn’t realize it. My aunt died, I inherited her dog, I live in New York but I’m stuck here, I look like crap and feel worse. Would it hurt any of you to be a little patient?”

  “I can pump and squeegee ’bout as good as the next guy,” Burke said, shifting the ice bag from one thick, finely muscled arm to the other.

  She stared—enjoyed, if she wanted to be honest. If she was a fool for a good male back, then she was a freaking idiot for strong male arms.

  A man who was so ruthlessly sexy from the back shouldn’t be even sexier from the front. Especially when he was Burke Wolf, someone she’d despised, then loved, then tried to despise again for both their sakes.

  Fourteen years ago, he’d been lanky—borderline skinny. The marijuana had made him more haunted-looking than handsome. But the cocaine had split his personality in two, and both had battled for control of one vulnerable body. And she’d loved him despite his struggle…maybe even because of it.

  At his worst, he’d been confused, volatile, frightening. That Burke was familiar. The man in front of her was fucking beautiful, but completely new territory, and she’d better tread with caution.

  Muscle gave him bulk, but also made him appear capable. He was more tanned than she remembered, his gray eyes clearer yet harder, his face still angular but brushed with that scruff of a beard she wanted to nuzzle.

  The bristly scrape against her skin would cause enough tingle to wake up her senses and remind her that she wasn’t a hollow shell wandering around a strange town that had once been her home.

  “Want me to help you out?” he offered.

  “Thought you were done here.” The animosity was weak. Time apart could dull anger, dilute pain. Their broken friendship had been inevitable. When two messed-up teenagers needed each other as much as they had, they were bound to hurt each other.

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “I’m a big girl. Know my way around a gas pump and a squeegee, thanks,” she said, stuffing her card and receipt into her purse.

  “Yet you couldn’t get yourself out of the rain.”

  The laughter of eavesdroppers accosted her. Instantly, she was flushed with embarrassment. “Screw you, Burke.” Naturally, he was already walking out the door and she felt like an idiot to be growling retorts at nobody.

  “Whoa. When did you two break up?” the clerk asked.

  Probably they’d be better off to have used each other for sex and kept friendship out of the equation. But nobody here—not the clerk or the shoppers gathered around—wanted that sort of truth. So she lied. “Years ago. We were stupid then. Stupider now.”

  Sofia made up her mind to take her bags and go straight to the Lexus, but her gaze stalled on that damn plaid flannel shirt when she stepped outside.

  Leave it alone. Leave him alone. Leave the past the hell alone.

  “I wasn’t done talking, you know,” she blurted through the rain.

  Burke was headed toward a not-half-bad-looking truck, but he turned and stopped. The rain sank into his clothes and battered his gorgeous skin.

  “‘Screw you, Burke.’ That’s what you said. I heard it. You got the last word, Sofia. I’m done. Get out of the rain before you get sick, and you’re golden.”

  Before you get sick. Right. Heart failure had made her life all about restrictions and fear and being so careful because she’d been vulnerable—dying.

  The urge hit to show him just how very much alive she was. She could still feel his touch on her skin, but damn it, a memory wasn’t enough. Silently she screamed for him to put his hands on her—now.

  Drop the ice and grab me. Shove me against the side of your truck, pull up my dress, yank my panties out of the way. Find the part of me that’s wet because of you and not the rain.

  He wouldn’t, but what if they could do what didn’t make sense?

  What if, just once, she let herself take something she wanted? What if she weren’t lost and broken?

  But she was both of those things, so, backpedaling, she wordlessly crossed to the pump where her SUV waited. Setting her bags onto the passenger seat, she said to Joss, “Got food.”

  “So, about you and…?”

  “Burke Wolf.”

  “See no drama, hear no drama?”

  “Please.”

  “Okay, except he’s walking over here.”

  Sofia straightened, slammed the door, and watched him wait for a car to pass before he strode to her pump. “What do you want, Burke?”

  He thrust out the ice bag. Too puzzled to react, she mutely took it and he started squeezing fuel into the tank. “What happened to you in there?” he demanded.

  “Excuse me?”

  “At the damn counter. Your face went blank, you were shaking. What was that?”

  “A panic attack. A mild one. They happen sometimes.”

  “Since when?”

  “The transplant.”

  He was silent as he took away the nozzle and returned it to the dispenser, then took a squeegee to the windshield, prying away the insect residue that’d withstood the rain. “I should’ve taken a gig this weekend, let you visit in peace. I should’ve sent something—flowers or a card—instead of being in the way and pissing you off.”

  “You cared about Luz,” she said. “You have every right to be here grieving her, too. And I’m sick of cards. I work for Manhattan Greetings. It’s an indie card company.”

  Burke’s mouth quirked as he screwed on the gas cap. “Writer? Artist?”

  “No, I’m on the marketing team.” Suddenly, the burning cold of the ice penetrated her skin. “So are we going to talk about everything but the transplant?”

  “I don’t want to get sucked in again.”

  “I sucked you in before?”

  “Calling me your best friend? Looking at me like I was your hero? Damn straight.”

  “Really, Burke? I saved you. And you know exactly how and when and why.” The memory of that pale, terrorizing morning all those years ago gave her shivers. Or maybe that was from the pelting rain, the moaning thunder, or the mound of ice in her grip.

  “Want thanks for that?”

  “No,” she said resignedly. “Just go to your truck. Good-bye, Burke. Let’s do this again in another fourteen years.”

  Sofia climbed into her vehicle, dumped the freezing bundle she carried onto the floor beside her, and started driving.

  “Um, Sof?”

  “I remembered the Fritos, Joss.”

  “Good. But about Burke?”

  “Don’t tell me he’s sexy, or fine, or screwable. I already know. And we’re done.”

  Joss hummed, and behind Sofia, the dog grunted as she tried to contort to lick a hind paw. “Not sure I’d say done.”

  Through the rearview mirror, Sofia ignored her drippy-haired, makeup-smeared reflection to glance at Joss. “Why’s that?”r />
  “I think you stole the man’s ice.”

  *

  “She stole my fucking ice.” Burke was already in his truck, radio blaring, adrenaline riding him hard, when it dawned on him that the reason he’d driven to the convenience store had disappeared in the opposite direction with the sexiest wreck he’d ever met.

  Slamming the heel of his hand against the custom steering wheel, he swore and laughed at the damn shame of it. He’d hung back, lurking on the fringes of the gathering at Luz Azcárraga’s funeral, precisely to avoid cutting into Sofia’s path. Well, for that reason and because half the folks in this town didn’t give two shits about him or Sofia or, hell, even Luz. Fucking phonies, getting all nice and close to the dearly departed and filling their heads with fodder for a rumor mill that was downright vicious for a town of only about three thousand souls.

  When this town turned against you, it wouldn’t be satisfied until you bled.

  Burke had lived in Eaves until he was old enough to ride to freedom. He’d hit rock bottom on cocaine at the end of high school—hadn’t even walked with his peers—and it’d taken him a few brutal years to trust his sobriety.

  These days, he didn’t even accept a blunt passed to him on the dock. Gigs sucked long hours out of his life, and any given day he could die on the job, but his career as a longshoreman and occasional seafarer was pretty much the only facet of his life now.

  On call for emergencies but off assignments for the foreseeable future while his body recuperated and his mind recharged, he was on what some men called a vacation. He found little joy in time off. While others were glad to take off when the opportunity rolled around, Burke accepted breaks only when he was running on empty and knew he’d be shit on the job if he didn’t step back. Eaves wasn’t the ideal place to dock his boat, yet he couldn’t complain when he got what satisfied him: willing women and sleep.

  God, he treasured sleep. Even with the fucked-up dreams, he was grateful every time he could stretch out on something soft and shut himself down.

  Any pleasure he’d found in casual sex, working on his boat, and sleeping had evaporated when he found out about Luz. He’d seen her the morning she died, though he hadn’t given her more than a cordial wave and a routine “Hey, how you doing?” But he could imagine how it’d played out. She’d been running errands, so proud of her freaky little store, as she always was, bicycling around Eaves with Screw you in that pretty smirk of hers. By afternoon she and her bike were flat on the ground in front of the post office, and she was dead.