“Nonsense. You’ll stay. Yes?”
“If it’s no trouble, thank you,” Dave said politely.
Uncle Jake would stand there and guilt her until she ate, so she selected a piece of bruschetta and bit into the crisp, savory treat.
Dave chose the garlic bread. His eyes widening in open appreciation at his first bite tickled her. “Hey, this is great.”
“Of course. Enjoy your visit.” Uncle Jake smiled pointedly and trudged off to the bar.
Dave finished the slice of garlic bread. “What’s best on the menu?” He glanced at the narrow laminated menu tucked in the napkin holder.
“Honestly? Whatever Uncle Jake makes for us. The menu there is appetizers and sandwiches. Dinner entrees are whatever he’s inspired each day to cook.”
They each filled the silence between them with more bread and sips at their drinks.
“Dave, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want,” she blurted.
He locked his gaze on her. “Do you want me to leave?”
No.
If only Dave were his flippant, sardonic self rather than watching her as if his life depended on her answer. “I…didn’t want you to feel pressured. Uncle Jake’s good at guilting people into eating…”
“I want to stay…and talk.”
“Okay.” Olivia stopped fiddling with her glass. “So where have you stopped on your drive?”
Dave studied the bottle in his hands as if the label held the answer. “I’d never been farther east than Texas. I figured I’d keep driving and see where I ended up. So far, I’ve done Oregon, Washington, Canada, Alaska, Idaho, Montana, Colorado, Nebraska, Oklahoma, Texas, Mexico, New Mexico, Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia, and now Florida.”
“Wow. How long have you been on the road?”
He shrugged, raising a shadow of his old grin. “Long enough. Once I hit New Orleans, I meant to keep zigzagging around, hit Memphis and Nashville—always wanted to see the Grand Ole Opry—and shoot up to New York, but kept heading east.”
She chose a piece of garlic bread. “So, what are your plans from here? Still the Keys?”
“Honestly? I have no damned idea.” He winced, glancing down, lush dark lashes hiding bleak eyes, and leaned forward on his elbows, capable fingers lightly touching the beer bottle.
Reminding her how lightly, gently he’d touched her, how he’d brought her exquisite pleasures. Heat rushed her.
“I’m sorry.” He choked out the words, as though they’d escaped a logjam of other words, his bright whisky eyes dulled with despair and frustration. He rolled the bottle between tense fingers. “I know you can’t want me here. I’m sorry. I should go. I was on the highway and heading for Key West, and today’s the anniversary of the crash, and I just couldn’t hack another night at another strange bar and more people I don’t know. I saw the exit and I turned and I’m here.”
His voice cracked. Pain haunted his face, and his hands were shaking on the bottle. He grabbed one hand with the other and flattened them against the tabletop.
“Then stay.” Her words flew.
What was she doing?
Chapter Thirteen
“Then stay.”
Dave’s eyes snapped wide. Good thing he was sitting. He cleared his throat, struggling to get words past the rapids of crazed emotions.
“Stay here. You don’t have to go,” Livie said simply, her chocolate eyes steady and sure.
His pride thrashed feebly to the surface. “You don’t have to do this because you feel sorry—”
“I don’t feel sorry. You need to stay. I want you to stay. So stay.” She stared at him, her shoulders squared with the steel in her spine she so rarely revealed.
“Okay.”
Come on, pull yourself together before you embarrass yourself completely.
She smiled firmly. “Good. Now, do you want the last garlic bread or the bruschetta? Uncle Jake pouts if we don’t clean our plates.”
He cleared his throat again and picked up the knife. “Or we can cut them in half and share.”
Her smile warmed, soft as dawn. “Excellent idea.”
He washed down the last bite of bruschetta with the last of his beer as Jake delivered a fresh round of drinks.
“Good, clean plates. That’s what I like to see.” Jake plunked the drinks down with large, work-worn hands. “These are from Henry.”
Livie waved to the old man at the bar. “Thank you, Henry.”
Henry tossed a jaunty wave, and returned to his own drink.
“Olivia, give Dave a tour of the place. You’ll have time before the next squall line rolls on through.” Jake winked, his sharp brown eyes twinkling under bushy white eyebrows. “Come on, up you go. Take your drinks.”
A big man before the years had bent his frame, Livie’s uncle had a thick head of white hair, and a stomach that proved he enjoyed eating as much as cooking strained his white chef’s apron and bright tropical print shirt.
Livia stood. Dave pushed up. His damn leg yelped, and he winced.
Jake pinned Dave with a sharp, knowing stare. “Take a walk. Stretch things out. Watch the boards on the dock, a couple aren’t as level as they look.”
The old man’s unspoken message rang loud and clear: Watch your step with my Olivia. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Uncle Jake, Dave’s staying.”
The man had a good poker face under his raised brow. “How long?”
Livie tipped her chin and straightened her shoulders a hair more. “Until he’s ready to leave.”
“You got a hotel room, Dave?”
“No, sir.”
“Olivia’ll show you the empty apartment. You can stay there.”
Dave met the old man’s stern brown eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. Call me Jake. Haven’t been sir in decades. You kids skedaddle so I can cook.” He stomped off toward the double kitchen doors.
Dave leaned on the table, left tossed by the last few minutes. The shakes in his hands had settled to faint tremors. Falling apart was just so fucking fun. Not.
He focused on the room. Old trophy fish scattered the wood-plank walls. One ceramic blue tang swam among the decorative clownfish and angelfish dotting the nearest wall.
Just keep swimming.
Concern filled Livie’s eyes. “We don’t have to walk.”
Pinning on a grin for her sake, he grabbed his cane and the beer. “No. I want to. Give me the grand tour.”
Livie led the way down through the porch to the dock, giving him a teasing view of her lovely rear and long tan legs.
Heavy humid air filled with a briny tang buffeted his skin and dark clouds sealed off the brief break of sunlight. Condensation slicked his beer bottle. Seagulls cried over the rough slaps of water, the boats at the marina shifting restlessly at their moorings, and palms and the vinyl enclosure protecting the porch rattled under the gusty wind.
Livie trailed her fingers along the wet railing. “I’ve always loved this place. Uncle Jake bought the place in 1961, and he’s barely changed a thing since, except storm protection upgrades and expanding the porch. I’m gently nudging him toward the twenty-first century on the inside.”
Pelicans and seagulls manned the pilings along the bulwark and dock. A small green lizard skittered along the rope threaded through the sturdy posts. The building rose in levels from the dock and boardwalk decking: the porch half-wrapping the building with its palm-thatch roof, above that, the tin-roofed dining room and bar area and second floor.
“Boaters can tie up to the dock and come in for a drink and meal. If they need longer, we send them to Maguire’s.” She pointed south through more palms to the large marina clustered with assorted swaying masts, antennas, and fluttering snapping pennants.
At the end of the dock, they turned and stopped, a wide space between them. A space he’d created because he had his head so far up his ass.
Livie lifted her chin. “There. Home sweet home. The stairs on the right-hand side lea
d to the apartment entry and out to the parking lot. You’ll be on the right. It’s an efficiency apartment with AC, a tiny kitchen, and your own bathroom. That balcony door opens from the shared hallway. I enjoy having my morning coffee out there. The apartment is vacant because one of our waitresses returned to college. Uncle Jake lives in the house out at the road. The pink one.” She finished breathlessly.
Dave managed a grin. “Couldn’t miss it.”
Distant lightning speared from the approaching squall line’s heavy clouds.
He clenched his jaw, choking on the swelling urge to run. He needed to be here. Getting the hint only took him thirteen states, Canada, Mexico, and the breakdown looming like those threatening clouds.
He set his half-empty beer bottle on the bench. Focusing on breathing and fighting the resurging shakes pushing through his body, he clutched his hands on the cane’s smooth heavy grip and the pressure of the shaft against the decking helped ground him.
“There’s no obligation. I want you to know.”
“What?” He glanced over. Livie still took his breath away.
“About me being across the hall. You made things clear…when we said goodbye.” She casually sipped at her drink and gazed off over the roof. “This is a good place for getting your head together. So, no strings.”
“No strings. Got it.” After cutting her cold like he’d done, her saying “Stay” rocked him to the core.
She’d said the one word he’d never wanted.
Hadn’t known he needed.
Stay.
****
Olivia set her glass beside his beer. Thank heaven Dave was off the road. He was far from okay. Tense as a power line straining under hurricane winds, he’d clenched hands on his cane, the strain whitening his knuckles, and fine tremors rolled through his body.
Had he neglected to take a pain pill or was he foolishly pushing his body’s limits to avoid the meds? Worse, was he having withdrawals? She hadn’t seen him abusing his meds at Mohave, but should she insist on an ER visit?
“And today’s the anniversary of the crash, and I just couldn’t hack another night at another strange bar and more people I don’t know.”
Oh, Lord, have mercy. She lay her hand on his, stroking his knuckles, and swallowed against the need touching him unleashed. “That’s a lovely cane. It’s like a sculpture.”
He took a deep dragging breath and met her eyes. “Yeah, it’s cool. A gift from Nate and Kay and made by an artist friend of theirs.” He tipped the cane, showing off the sinuous fish winding up the shaft.
The breeze gusted, tugging at their hair, and sending the palms to restless rustling.
“Up to seeing the apartment? We should bring your things in before more rain hits. By the time we’re done, Uncle Jake should being complaining we’re late for his meal. What do you say?”
“Sure.”
Olivia grabbed her glass and his bottle. If someone had told her she’d tell Dave to stay, she’d have called them nuts.
They followed the steps and the sidewalk. She paused at the side ramp leading to the kitchen and apartment door landing and set the glass and bottle on a piling to retrieve later.
Dave led her to a shiny black Ford pickup truck with four doors and dual rear wheels dwarfing her Prius in the next spot. He raised the tonneau cover and selected a duffel bag and grudgingly allowed her to take an overnight bag and laptop from the backseat.
Raindrops tapped and pattered. Two more cars pulled into the lot, and the customers hustled to the front entrance. Thunder cracked, and a short shudder jerked through Dave.
She spoke light and breezy against the need to hold him. “Okay. What else?”
“That’s all.” He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.
“You should bring your guitar inside.” She pointed to his guitar case half-hidden under camping equipment.
****
Dave swallowed his retort and dragged out the worn black case. Complying was easier than arguing.
A broad canvas canopy sheltered two doors at the top of the ramp. Livie unlocked the left-hand door and headed upstairs. Juggling the duffel, guitar, and cane made the narrow stairs a bitch to manage—no, pride was the bitch, the load was only awkward.
“Our doors are opposite.” She led him along the tiled hallway. “The layout originally was three apartments, but Uncle Jake knocked two together in the eighties, making mine a roomier L.”
A hand-painted driftwood welcome sign hung on the white door on the right. She opened the white door on the left with a brass starfish. He followed into the spare, stuffy room. On the wall to his left, two open pocket doors offered a glimpse of a closet and a bathroom. He had a single bed with a simple white cover, a dresser, a recliner, and a side table with a lamp and clock radio blinking 12:00. A television stood on a low dresser. Closed mini blinds covered one wide window on the wall opposite the door. Another ceramic blue tang swam among the seashore decor items scattering the beige walls. He laughed to himself.
“There are clean towels in the closet, and the bed’s made.” Livie set his two bags on the bed.
He dropped his duffel and guitar beside them. To his right, the kitchenette held a two-seater dinette table, a narrow refrigerator, a coffee maker, and a range. A scattering of dishes, cups, glasses, and cookware sat on the open shelving and the window over the sink offered a view of the dock and the river.
“The washer and dryer are downstairs, off the kitchen.” She fussed with the fridge until the appliance hummed into life. “I’ll give you some coffee and something for breakfast and you’ll be set for the morning. If you passed a mall on your way here, that’s the nearest grocery store. There’s a convenience store about the same distance the other way. The television has basic cable.”
After refilling an ice cube tray, she pointed to the small corkboard beside the wall-mounted phone. “There’s the alarm code, and the phone numbers for the restaurant, the office, Uncle Jake, pizza delivery, and stuff. Oh, and the wireless code. You can always knock on my door if you need anything.” Two keys hung on the pushpin holding the list.
She plucked off the keys and offered them up. “The brass key is for the apartment, the other opens the exterior doors.”
Choking on frustration and gratitude for the refuge Livie and her uncle had granted him, he forced the words out. “Thanks again, Livie. The room’s great.”
“You’re welcome. Okay, let’s get you the breakfast things.”
Just keep swimming.
In her apartment across the hall, cozy rattan furniture with thick tan cushions offered welcoming comfort in the spacious living room decorated in shades of rust and gold. Kay’s watercolor painting of Coyote Point from last year hung prominently above the sofa. Where he had the kitchenette, he glimpsed a bedroom, feminine and inviting, partially divided off by filmy curtains and built-in floor-to-ceiling shelving filled with books.
Her more spacious kitchen and dining areas held a formal cherry china cabinet and sideboard, a rattan table and two chairs, and full-sized appliances and modern cabinets. Her two kitchen windows overlooked the parking lot and a wide view of restless palms and the approaching squall. A door on the right led to a bathroom.
“Your place looks great. Comfortable.”
Her beautiful smile lit her face. “Thanks. I’ve had fun decorating the way I wanted. I used Kay’s painting for color inspiration, and the rest flowed.”
She fussed through her kitchen, pouring him whole milk into a plastic container. Coffee, filters, sugar, and cereal followed into plastic baggies. She tucked everything, along with two ripe bananas, into a grocery sack. “There, breakfast’s set. We’ll stash this in your place and head downstairs.”
“Yeah.” Exhaustion shuddered through him. He grit his jaw and clenched his hand on the cane. Being in public would help him keep his shit together.
Just keep swimming.
Not so easy to do when you were drowning.
****
Huge mistake.
Huge. Olivia dragged in a breath and stepped outside. She was so not over Dave.
Brilliant lightning splintered above the trees, and thunder followed with a sharp report.
Palm fronds whispered and shook under the gusty breeze. The already gloomy day darkened rapidly, and heavy smacking raindrops chased them along the bar’s entry ramp. Thunder cracked and rumbled.
“We unloaded your truck just in time.”
Jean was behind the bar. Uncle Jake must be in the kitchen. Despite the weather, happy hour was in full swing. Regulars filled the bar stools, and a decent crowd of customers at the tables promised a good night for the till.
Olivia set the empty glass and bottle on the bar. “Hey, Jean. This is Dave Knight. He’s staying in the upstairs apartment for a while.”
“Hi, Dave, welcome. Same drinks?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Dave raised a friendly smile.
“You’re in Olivia’s vacation pics, right? The firefighter fellow.”
“Right.”
Jean efficiently served up his beer and mixed a fresh V and T for Olivia.
Sharp rattling thunder banged and rain bucketed. Wind gusted in from the front door.
“Hey, look who the storm blew in.” Jean grinned as she set Olivia’s drink on the bar.
A male arm dropped over Olivia’s shoulder. “Howdy, Jean.” Royce hugged Olivia close, his rain-damp shirt cool against her bare arm. “Hey, Liv. How’s your day been? Grandad’s been meaner than an alligator with a toothache today. Remind me again why I thought retiring would be easier?”
Jean was already pouring him a pint of Foster’s.
Oh, heavens, if Dave hadn’t been tense enough.
“Hi, Royce. Sorry you’ve had a tough day.” She returned Royce’s hug, then took advantage of his reaching for his beer to slip casually away and retreat beside Dave.
Royce glanced from her to Dave’s stormy eyes, brows rumpling with puzzled concern.
Oh, this was awkward. Olivia firmed a smile. “Royce, I’d like you to meet Dave Knight, ah, a friend visiting from California. Dave, this is Royce Maguire.”
Dave set his beer aside and held out a steady hand. “Maguire? You own the marina?”
Love Burns Page 20