Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3)

by Tammy Falkner

“Why are they talking about him?”

  He stares at me. “You don’t know about what happened?”

  “No. Was it big? It must have been huge.”

  He nods. “Some people around here blame him for an accident that happened.”

  “Oh.” I look at the people, who are still whispering fiercely to themselves as they watch the taillights of Ethan’s truck get smaller in the distance.

  “I say the man has done his time and they need to leave him alone. He paid for it.”

  “Time?” I am thoroughly confused now.

  Shy glares at me. “I thought you said you know him.”

  “I do. Well, I did. A long time ago.” I unload my purchases.

  He picks up the box of cake mix. “Somebody got a birthday?” he asks, like he’s ready to change the subject.

  “Yeah, that jackass that just walked out of here.”

  Shy’s face softens. “This is for Ethan?”

  I nod as heat creeps up my cheeks.

  “Then you’re all right in my book, Abigail,” he says. “You can come back here anytime.”

  He picks up the shirt and reads it. “He takes that stupid duck everywhere.” He rolls his eyes. “I think it’s good he’s got something to love. Nobody deserves love more than Ethan.” He heaves a sigh and puts the candles in the bag without ringing them up. “They’re on me,” he explains. “Since it’s his birthday.” He grins at me as he hands me my bag. His voice drops down to a whisper. “I have a feeling you’re going to be good for Ethan.”

  “I’m only here for a short while,” I reply.

  “And maybe he’ll be good for you,” he goes on as though I hadn’t spoken.

  “It’s not like that,” I explain, shaking my head.

  He chuckles, and it’s a throaty, full sound. “You turned about ten shades of red when he was messing with you,” he says. He looks toward where Ethan was parked. “I haven’t seen Ethan look that relaxed since he got back.”

  “Ethan and I were friends many years ago,” I tell him. “Good friends. He might have even been my first kiss.” Heat creeps up my cheeks again.

  “Make that eleven shades of pink, Abigail,” Shy says. “Must have been some kiss.”

  I smile at him. “Oh, it was.” It was honest and it was real and it was with the right boy.

  He looks at me, his gaze intent. “Be patient with him, Abigail. He’s been through a lot.” He taps the counter with his fingertips to let me know he’s done with me. “I’ll be seeing you again sometime,” he says. He winks at me. “I hope.”

  I grin at him as I leave, and he turns, stony-faced, to help the couple that ruined Ethan’s good mood. Gone is happy, carefree Shy. Now he’s a man who wants nothing more than for them to make their purchases and get out of his store.

  I drive back to the cabin and go searching under the cabinet for Gran’s old cake pan, and I finally find it shoved way at the back. I pull it out, and I start mixing the cake. I don’t have a measuring cup or a mixer, so I have to do the best I can with what I have.

  When I’m done, I have an absolute mess of a cake. I did pinch a little piece of it off to taste it, and it tastes like cake is supposed to taste. It’s sweet and it’s the right consistency, but it’s the ugliest cake I’ve ever seen. I iced it, and then I tried to write happy birthday in cursive on top of it, but my writing was sloppy, so it looks more like jagged swirls than words. Nevertheless, it’s his birthday and I’m taking it to him.

  I pick up the cake, opting to leave it unwrapped and open to the air, and I walk down to where his tent is. But when I arrive, he’s not there. The campsite is empty. I look around, but he’s nowhere nearby. Then I hear it. I hear the little quacking sound, and I walk out to the main road, where he must be coming back from the lake. The little black and green duck waddles along behind him, and that’s the ruckus I heard. I grin as I watch him walk with the little duck running along at his heels.

  “And here I thought I was your best friend,” I say. He freezes, his eyes darting toward the cake plate I’m holding aloft. I start to very softly sing the happy birthday song, and he grins. I can tell he’s trying to bite it back, but he can’t.

  “How did you know?” he asks, wonder in his voice as he stares at the monstrosity of a cake.

  “I remembered,” I say with a shrug. His eyes meet mine and he stares into them so long that I forget how to breathe.

  “Thank you,” he says. He dips his head and kisses my cheek really quickly, and I know I probably turn another ten shades of red, if the heat that’s filling my face is any indication. He looks at the cake and laughs. “That’s a hell of a cake.”

  “I made it myself,” I say with a small curtsy. He chuckles, tossing his head back as his mouth falls open with laughter. He has a small picnic table next to his tent, so I go and set the cake down on it. “Where have you been?”

  His hair is wet, and he has a damp towel around his naked shoulders. I jerk my eyes up from his abs, because…hello! He has abs for days. I reach out like I’m going to touch him, but I jerk my hand back at the last minute.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just wanted to see if they’re real.” I look at his shoulders. “Holy cow, you’re, like, totally ripped.” He has muscles upon muscles. He’s not bulky, but he definitely works on his body.

  This time, it’s his turn to go pink. “Stop it,” he says. He dips his head so he can dry his hair with the towel.

  “Did you go swimming?” I look at his abs again and lick my lips, exaggerating my stare.

  He flicks at me with the towel, and it makes a cracking sound as it snaps right in front of me. “Cut it out. You’re embarrassing me.”

  “You don’t have a single thing to be embarrassed about,” I tell him, and I let my eyes drag lazily down his body. I lift my hand again and ask very cheekily, “Can I touch them?” I look directly at his abs, which ripple under my stare.

  “No, you may not touch them,” he says. But then he laughs as he grabs my hand and gives it a shove.

  “Are you sure, because they look like they might enjoy it.”

  He holds the towel at the ready position, and I know he’s about to flick me again, and I really don’t care. “You’re making me feel cheap,” he says.

  “You could be on one of those man calendars,” I say, excitement in my voice. “You know, like the ones where firefighters hold puppies against their naked chests.” I mime holding a puppy near my body.

  “I don’t have a puppy,” he grumbles.

  “Oh!” I point to the duck. “You could totally hold your duck.” I look at the little guy, who is happy pecking at grass as he sits at Ethan’s feet. “Can I pet him?” I bend down, but he waddles away from me to hide behind Ethan’s leg.

  “I don’t think he likes you,” he says. “Which means he has good taste, because I don’t like you very much either.” He feigns an offended sniff, and I glare at him.

  “But I brought cake!” I whisper-hiss at him. I let my eyes drag down his chest again. “And you brought the abs.” I waggle my brows at him. “I can’t believe you hide this under clothes all day. If I were you and I looked like that, I’d never wear clothes.”

  “Stop it,” he says again. But he’s grinning when he sits down across from the cake.

  I reach into my back pocket and pull out the candle—courtesy of Shy—and the lighter I found in Gran’s junk drawer. I light his candle, and I sing the birthday song again. “Make a wish.” I motion him forward. “Then blow out your candle.”

  He stares into my eyes just long enough for it to get uncomfortable, and then he closes his eyes, mouths some words, and blows out the single candle that adorns the ugly cake. He sits back and smiles at me. “Thank you.”

  I motion up and down his body. “The pleasure was all mine.” I waggle my brows at him again.

  “You need to stop that,” he warns, but he’s chuckling too. He scratches his nose and looks at the cake.

  “Oh, shoot, I forgot to bring something to cut it w
ith,” I say, as I look around. He has a tiny stove set-up, but there are no utensils or plates. I should have anticipated this.

  He jumps up and goes to a tote box next to the tiny stove, and he takes out two plastic forks. He hands me one with a flourish.

  “Why, thank you,” I say as I turn to the cake. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to cut a piece or what. He didn’t give me a plate, maybe because he doesn’t have any. “Chocolate is still your favorite, right?”

  “I’m surprised you remembered.” His grin is really infectious.

  I shrug and say nothing. But I’m grinning too.

  He sticks the fork into the cake and comes back with a piece that’s way too big for his mouth. But he opens up wide and shovels it in, his eyes closing as he chews. “It tastes a lot better than it looks,” he says after he swallows. He dives in for another piece, and it’s just as big as the first.

  I stick my fork in the cake and come back with a small piece, but just as I almost get it to my mouth, he grabs my arm and guides the fork into his mouth instead. “Hey!” I pretend to be offended. “That was mine.”

  “My birthday,” he says, “my cake.”

  “So I don’t get to eat any of it?” I pretend to huff and pout.

  “Fine, you can have one bite.” He rolls his eyes. He gets up. “I’m going to get out of these wet things. Don’t go anywhere.”

  He goes into his tent, his little duck toddling behind him, and comes out a couple of minutes later wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt. He throws his damp towel and his wet swimsuit over the little clothesline he has strung up between two trees.

  “You didn’t have to get dressed on my account,” I say.

  He heaves out an exaggerated sigh. “Now I’m going to think you only want me for my body.” He taps his temple. “I do have a brain, you know.” But he grins when he does it. He sits down again and dives in for another bite of cake, but this time he moves the fork down toward the ground and drops the piece of cake in front of his duck. The duck dives on it like he’s never seen food before. “Wilbur!” He tsks.

  “Wilbur?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “His name is Wilbur,” he explains with a grin. “Because he eats like a pig.”

  “That’s what you’re calling the duck?” I look down at the little guy who is happily chowing down on some cake. “He looks so happy.”

  “A turtle tried to eat him when I was swimming just now,” he says, his brow furrowing.

  “Turtles eat ducks?” I ask, slightly aghast at the thought.

  “Lots of things eat ducks,” he says. “I had to put him in the tent one day last week when a big old hawk kept sweeping by while I was working. I thought it was going to snatch him up.”

  “How did you end up with a duck?” I never did hear the story.

  “A fox raided the nest,” he says, talking over a mouth full of cake. He swallows. “Sorry,” he says. “But it’s so good!”

  “Please.” I encourage him to keep eating. “Talk. Eat. I don’t care. I won’t be offended if you do both at the same time.” I take another bite of the cake finally, and he winks at me. “So, a fox raided the nest…”

  He nods. “Made off with the mother, I suppose. No help for that. All the eggs in the nest had been destroyed. All but one. I put it in my pocket and brought it back with me. Just to see what would happen.” He gestures toward the duck. “Then he happened.”

  “Wilbur happened.”

  “Now I couldn’t get rid of him if I tried. He follows me everywhere.” But he looks down at the duck with so much affection on his face that I know he likes him.

  “I’ve seen him chasing you around.” I pretend to glare at him. “Since you’ve been avoiding me, I’ve had to watch from afar.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “About that.” He stops talking and stares at nothing.

  “You going to tell me why?”

  “I’d like to tell you everything,” he says quietly. “But I…” He stops again, and there’s a look on his face like no look I’ve ever seen on anybody’s face before. Ever.

  I reach over and cover his hand with mine. He winces at the contact but doesn’t pull away. “The last thing that you said to me the other night was that you break the things you touch. What did you mean by that?”

  He gives a little half shrug. “I have a way of royally fucking things up.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means…that I’ll destroy you too if you let me.” He looks so resigned to his words, and it makes me sad.

  “I might be a little stronger than you think.”

  “Or I might be as terrible as everyone says I am.”

  “Who is everyone?”

  “You saw those people in the tackle shop today. That’s the reception I get no matter where I go.”

  “Why?”

  He bites his lips together. “Again, I’d like to keep you as a friend a little longer, if that’s okay with you.”

  I stare at him. “So you don’t want to tell me.”

  He nods. “It is my birthday,” he says. He bats his long eyelashes at me like a flirt.

  I press the heel of my hand against his forehead and give it a shove. “You suck so bad.”

  “I know.” He grins. Then he pops another piece of cake into his mouth and grins while he chews.

  I roll my eyes and his grin grows even bigger. He’s so much like the boy I used to know, and yet somehow not.

  His head jerks up when we hear the crunch of tires on gravel. His face turns completely white.

  “Who is it?” I ask. But he’s already getting up. He’s already pacing. “What’s wrong?”

  The joking is gone from his tone as he says quietly, “I told her I wasn’t ready.”

  “Who?” Then I see his mom get out of the car, and while she has aged, she hasn’t changed that much.

  But what surprises me is the little boy that dashes from the backseat of the car, and he runs toward Ethan with the biggest grin on his face. “Dad!” he yells.

  And I watch as Ethan’s eyes fill up with tears as he catches his son as he flings himself at him, as he hugs him tightly, as he bares his soul for this little boy, and my eyes suddenly fill with tears too.

  Ethan is a dad. I mean, I knew he was a dad because he told me. But he’s this kid’s dad. And while this visit might have been a surprise, it’s not a bad one. Not by a long shot. Ethan holds the kid tightly until he finally sets him back from him.

  “Happy birthday!” the kid shouts.

  “Thank you,” Ethan says. He glares at his mother. “I didn’t know you guys were coming today.” If looks could kill, she’d be dead on the ground right now.

  “You can put your death stare away, Ethan,” she says, wagging her finger at him. She has her mom face on. “You can put it away right now.”

  His face immediately softens, and he walks over to give her a hug. She’s tiny compared to him.

  “Abigail Marshall, is that you?” she suddenly asks, when she sees me sitting there at the picnic table.

  “It’s not Marshall anymore, Ma,” he says. “She went and got herself hitched.”

  I scratch my nose. “Actually, it’s still Marshall. I never changed my name.”

  “Why not?” he asks, looking confused.

  I shrug. “It just seemed like too much trouble.”

  Both mother and son stare at me, looking confused. I look toward Ethan’s son. “Your dad has a duck,” I tell him.

  Then all the attention is off me and on the duck, thank God. But I catch Ethan staring at me again, like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle.

  Good, we’re even, because I don’t understand him either. All I know is that he has some big secret he doesn’t want to tell me because he’s afraid it will push me away. Fine. I’ll let him keep his secret for now.

  “I should go,” I say as I hesitantly get to my feet.

  “Please stay,” Ethan says. His mom looks from me to him a
nd back, a small smile on her lips. “Abigail made cake.” He points toward it like he’s showing a prize on a game show.

  “It’s…lovely,” Ethan’s mom says. But then she starts to laugh.

  “It’s the ugliest cake ever,” I admit, and I’m laughing too.

  “It really is,” Ethan’s son agrees.

  Ethan gasps. “Mitchell! Manners! Apologize to Miss Abigail.”

  He looks up at his dad. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Actually,” I say, jumping in, “he’s right. Mitchell? That’s your name?” I look at the boy, and he nods. “Well, Mitchell, this cake is very ugly, but it’s also very good. Would you like to try it?”

  Mitchell looks up again at his father, seeking permission. “Can I have some?”

  Ethan tousles his son’s hair. “Of course, you can.” He goes and finds another fork. He looks at me and mouths the words thank you.

  I nod at him and he puts his full attention on his son. It’s like he can’t take his eyes off him now that he gets to see him. And watching the two of them together—that’s perfection. Mitchell looks just like Ethan did when he was younger. He’s playful and thoughtful and funny, just like Ethan. But what he’s not is wary. Ethan wears enough of that for all of us.

  “Did you make a wish?” the little guy asks.

  Ethan leans over and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I did.” His eyes meet mine. “And then it came true.”

  10

  Ethan

  Looking into my son’s face is like looking into the sun. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and everything I’ve ever wished for, all wrapped up in one perfect package. When I told my mother that I wasn’t ready to see him, that was more for his benefit than mine. I break the things I touch, and I’m afraid that I’m going to break him too. But now he’s here and looking away from him would be like avoiding the light the sun gives us each day. Even if I closed my eyes, he’d still be there.

  And he is a-fucking-mazing. He sits at the little picnic table in my campsite and eats cake straight from the cake plate with a plastic fork, and he looks happy about it. He has a grin that could light up a city.