by J. Kenner
I start to melt—for that matter, I start to regret that we didn’t go back to the house—but I’m quickly cooled off when we are suddenly and unceremoniously showered with droplets. I squeal and jump back, only to realize that we’re being sprayed by a thoroughly soaked Jake, now shaking himself dry beside us.
I meet Devlin’s eyes, and we both start laughing. “Crazy dog,” I say, kneeling in the sand to rub his ears. “You ready for the Frisbee?”
He perks up immediately, and Devlin tosses the disc, sending it sailing parallel to the water. Jake bounds after it, to the delight of two little girls building a sandcastle. Devlin and I kick off our sandals and hold them by the straps as we take off after him, splashing in the surf as we meet Jake coming back, his Frisbee-prey held proudly in his jaws.
“Good boy,” Devlin says, taking the Frisbee, then rubbing Jake’s neck. “Want to go again?”
The dog practically leaps with joy, and Devlin sends the toy flying again. We stroll that direction, hand in hand, until I come to a stop, suddenly realizing where we are.
Laguna Cortez is carved out of the hills, and as such, we have both sandy and rocky beaches. The beaches on the north end of town tend to be rockier as they approach the hills and cliffs that form into reefs that are great for divers and terrible for beachcombers and swimmers.
That’s where Uncle Peter’s house is, though it’s not his anymore, of course. A house on the beachside of the Coast Highway tucked up near a rocky outcropping that rises up toward a cliff now topped with condos. The house is huge and modern with lots of glass on the ocean side, while the inland-facing walls are mostly solid for both design and privacy.
Jake is racing straight toward it. But I stop cold.
“I haven’t walked here since I came back,” I tell Devlin. “Every time I come to the beach from Pacific Avenue, I turn south.” I shrug. “That’s just the way I’m drawn. To you, I guess,” I add with a smile. The DSF is a short walk to the south. And while it’s certainly true that I will always head toward Devlin, we both know that it’s not autopilot steering me away from Peter’s house. It’s loss.
Devlin takes my hand, then uses the fingers of his other to whistle to Jake, calling him back.
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “Really.”
“It doesn’t sound okay.”
“Just melancholy. Can you blame me?”
“Not at all.” He nods toward it. Whoever owns it now has kept it perfectly maintained. “Do you want to go closer?”
I shake my head. “Not today.”
“Whatever you need, baby. Whenever you need it. All you have to do is tell me.”
I flash him a smile. “I know.” I sigh. “Is it weird that even knowing everything I do about Peter that I still miss him terribly?”
“Oh, baby. No. Of course not.”
“Those years living in that house with him—and before, when I would go there after school before my dad died—I mean, I grew up there. I grew up with him. I missed my house after Daddy died, but this place became my home. It was my sanctuary. It was where I met you,” I add, meeting his eyes. “And you were my sanctuary, too.”
“El—”
“You were,” I say. “Even though you left. And I thought Peter was, too. But he wasn’t. Not really.”
“Wasn’t he?”
It’s a serious question, and I think about it. Because Devlin—Alex—really was my lynchpin. And he still is, even though he’d hurt me all those years ago. Because I understand why, and because I can live with the reasons.
With Peter, I can’t grasp the why. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever. But I’m trying, and I don’t know … maybe it will make a difference.
I twine my fingers with Devlin’s as I think about the duality of people. Who we are inside versus who we let people see. I think about Alex and Devlin, the same yet different. And me. Cop. Reporter. Lover. Survivor.
“Facets,” I say, remembering something Devlin had said a while back about how I could still love Peter, despite the bad things he’d done. Beside me, Devlin nods.
“I guess it’s not weird,” I concede. “And the truth is, I really do miss that place. Not just the memories, but damn, that was an exceptional building.”
“It was,” he agrees. “For that matter, it still is.” He hooks his arm around my waist. “My best memories are there, too. There, and one more place.”
I look up, meeting his eyes. “Yeah,” I say. “Me, too.”
We turn south and walk there without needing words, Jake trotting beside us, the Frisbee in his mouth. It doesn’t take long. It’s a short walk down the beach to the tide pools near the DSF.
“You better be careful,” I tease, as we get close. “It’s Friday and you’re playing hooky. If anyone in there sees you…”
“Lucky for us, I run the place.”
“Lucky indeed.” I grab his hand and tug. “Race you,” I say, and we take off sprinting.
Jake makes it there first, Devlin second, and I come in a very pathetic last. “Your legs are longer,” I complain.
“I love your legs,” Devlin says, tracing his finger on the hem of my shorts so that his fingertip brushes my thigh.
“Careful.”
His brow rises. “That was hardly a sensual caress.”
“With you, everything is a sensual caress. Especially here.”
Here is the place where he first kissed me, by the tidal pools formed by a collection of porous black rock.
“Come here,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because I want to kiss you again.”
“Oh.” I slide into his arms. “Thank you for a wonderful morning,” I say, as he tugs gently on my hair, angling my mouth up to his.
“What do you say we make it a wonderful day?”
“That sounds—” It sounds perfect, but I don’t get the word out. Instead, I melt into his kiss as the waves break around our ankles and Jake frolics nearby.
And as I lose myself in this moment, all I can think is that I don’t want it to end. Because somewhere beyond the veil of this fabulous morning is my mysterious texter. And he—or she—is determined to pop my hard-won bubble of happiness.
Chapter Thirty
Since it’s Friday, we spend the rest of the afternoon with Jake on the beach and at the small park that abuts the south side of the DSF. Once the sun starts to set, we grab ice cream cones from the little store near Pacific Avenue before walking back to Brandy’s house. She gets back from LA about the same time we get home, and we settle in for a movie marathon. It’s Brandy’s idea, actually, and she’s also the one who suggests we watch the first two Alien movies.
“We were watching Aliens the night you two met,” she says with a shrug. “I guess I’m feeling nostalgic.”
Since I’m fine with both nostalgia and cuddling up with Devlin for the length of two full movies, I eagerly agree. Devlin doesn’t hesitate either, and there’s something about his immediate, no-strings-attached acceptance that tugs at my heartstrings. Because this is a man with Important Stuff To Do, and yet he’s taking an entire workday to hang out doing exactly nothing with me, my bestie, and her dog.
With a sigh, I squeeze his hand, then lightly kiss his cheek.
“What’s that for?”
“Just because. But there’s a lot more coming.”
He makes a show of looking me up and down, then comically leers. “I can’t wait.”
I bop him with a pillow. “Stay,” I order, as Brandy and I pull together all manner of junk food to call dinner, then spread it over the coffee table along with two bottles of red and three glasses. And, of course, a chew toy for Jake.
As far as evenings go, it’s just about perfect.
Brandy and I spend the next day in a flurry of domesticity. The plan is for Devlin and Lamar to come to the house so the four of us can share an evening together just hanging out. By evening, the enticing scent of homemade spaghetti sauce fills the air, making my stomach growl.
Though
it was Brandy’s mom’s recipe, I’d done most of the labor under Brandy’s direction. “Devlin really will be impressed,” she says, testing it. “Careful,” she adds, “or he’ll think you can cook. Won’t he be surprised when you move in together and all you serve him is coffee, toasted bagels, and cream cheese?”
I smirk. “First of all, he hasn’t asked me to move in, just stay over. Second of all, I have pizza delivery services on speed dial, and I am a whiz at adding milk to cereal.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m pretty sure Captain Crunch is candy, not cereal.”
“Maybe. But it’s tasty.” I shrug. “This is why I have to continue living with you. The nutritional benefits of you being my best friend.”
“How you survived in New York…”
“Take-out,” I admit. “Lots and lots of take-out.”
She looks at me, nodding slowly. “Well, I guess we’ll hope that Devlin can cook. Do you think he will?”
“Cook?”
“Ask you to move in.”
“Oh.” I frown. “Moving a little fast, aren’t you?”
“It’s just a question,” she says, innocently.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Because he told you he has secrets. And that he’s dangerous.” She glances at the clock, then grabs a couple of tomatoes and passes them to me with orders to wash and slice. Meanwhile, she finishes topping the lasagna with mozzarella, then slips it in the oven. Honestly, I’m glad for the respite, because it gives me time to gather my thoughts. “I’m not concerned about danger,” I say as I make a point of cutting the beefsteak tomatoes into uniform slices. “But the secrets … if he’s really worried I’ll find something out, then why would he want me around twenty-four/seven?”
“Does it bug you?”
“That there’s something he’s not telling me?”
She nods.
“A little,” I admit.
“Only a little?”
I tilt my head, then point to the clock. “We should both change. They’ll be here soon.”
“Ellie…” I can practically hear the frown, but I just lift my hand in dismissal and hurry to my room. The truth is, I don’t want to think about moving in with Devlin. On the one hand, I want to be with him always. But on the other, I’m used to living alone.
But that’s not the real reason I don’t want to move in with him just yet. The real reason is that I want what was taken from us when The Wolf forced Alex’s hand. When he had to run, meaning that we never got to be anything more than a secret, tragic romance.
I want dates on the beach and picnics in the park. I want him to call me and send flowers. I want to pop by his office and drag him out for lunch and have it be all the more special because he didn’t see me in bed beside him that morning.
I want what other couples have. So far, there’s been very little about our relationship that qualifies as average. And while I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who’d long for middle of the road, as far as dating goes—as far as Devlin goes—it’s not only what I want, it’s what I need.
Which, I think, is why I have to blink back tears when I open the door to him a few minutes later to find him standing there with a bouquet of roses for Brandy and a silver-wrapped box for me.
“Can I open it?” I ask as we move toward the kitchen so Brandy can put her flowers in water. “What is it?”
“The key to your heart,” he says.
“To my heart. Not yours.” I shake the box, which is small but has some heft. “That means I’m gonna assume it’s not sexy lingerie.”
There’s a chuckle from the hallway, and we turn to see that Lamar has let himself in. “I didn’t realize it was that kind of a party. I would have worn something pink.”
“You’re hysterical,” I tell him, then hold up the package. “Brandy didn’t have to guess. Devlin brought her flowers. I’m currently trying to figure out what’s in my box.”
“Key to your heart?” Lamar repeats, then holds out his hand. I meet Devlin’s eyes, and when he shrugs, I put the box in Lamar’s outstretched hand.
Lamar makes a show of bouncing it in his hand, as if testing its weight. Then he shakes it. Then he sniffs it.
After that entertaining production, he passes it back to me. “Easy,” he says, looking from me to Devlin.
“You’re saying you know what it is?” I ask.
“Like the man said—it’s the key to your heart.”
I shake a finger between the two of them, managing a mock scowl.
“This is why she quit the force,” he tells Devlin. “Her detective skills are a little lacking.”
“I see that,” Devlin says. “It’s been a few years, though. We should probably cut her some slack.”
“You two are going to be in so much trouble,” I warn, then turn my attention to Lamar. “So? What is it?”
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s coffee?”
I look to Devlin, but he has the world’s best poker face. “Just open it,” Brandy says, and so I slide my finger under the paper, open the plain cardboard box, and find a small, solidly packed brick of Dunkin Donuts ground original roast. Utterly boring, but my absolute favorite.
And, yeah, I melt a little.
“Ya done good, man,” Lamar says, giving Devlin a friendly pat on the shoulder as I slide in for a hug.
“You just knew that?” I say, as Devlin’s arms go around me. “That he got me coffee.”
“The key to your heart? It was either coffee or a Pulitzer, and even Mr. Humanitarian of the Year here can’t arrange the second one.”
“Hell of a detective,” Devlin says, with a mock salute in Lamar’s direction as Brandy yells for me to come finish the caprese salad since the food’s almost ready.
But I don’t move. On the contrary, I just stand there, soaking it all in. Because the truth is, Lamar got it wrong. Coffee may be a weakness. But this—my friends laughing together—is the real key to my heart.
Chapter Thirty-One
Pacific Avenue is closed to traffic during the Fall Festival, and colorful booths fill the street. Fine art, crafts, jewelry, candles. Olives, salsa, cheeses, cookies. Things to buy, things to eat, and even a rotating line-up of local bands to listen to. It’s organized chaos and absolutely wonderful, albeit way too crowded.
“How come you don’t have a booth?” I ask Brandy as we check out a selection of sterling silver earrings. We’ve been at the fair since noon, and though it’s already past four, we still haven’t seen all the booths or visited all the shops.
“I was wondering that, too,” Anna says, her eyes an especially vivid blue, as if she’s channeling today’s bright sunshine. Her red hair is gleaming, too, and for the first time I notice that her roots are darker.
She and Tracy caught up with us an hour ago, about the time that Lamar, Christopher, and Devlin decided to camp out by the bandstand and chow down on tacos and churros. Ronan and Reggie were around earlier, too, but I haven’t seen either of them in the last few hours. I still haven’t figured out why Reggie looks so familiar, and I’ve started to think it’s just my imagination.
“Do you have an exclusive deal with The Escape?” Tracy asks, then turns to show off her own BB Bags crossbody. “I got this about an hour ago. It’s awesome.”
“You are my new best friend,” Brandy says. “Sorry, Ellie, but you had a good run.”
“She’s a lot of work,” I tell Tracy. “But she’s worth it.”
“I am,” Brandy says, laughing. “And nope, not an exclusive at all. In fact I was supposed to have a booth but I had to pull out last month.” A laughing woman with a to-go cup of wine pushes past us. “We’re blocking the booth,” Brandy says, then leads us to the backside with less foot traffic.
“So why’d you pull out?” Anna asks, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Brandy’s grin would rival the Cheshire Cat’s. “Because I had to ship all my inventory to Chicago for my new deal with one of the boutiques there. Totally awesome and
unexpected. And it’s also why I’m going to spend the rest of the weekend sewing. And next week interviewing for part-time help.”
“You didn’t tell me,” I say, giving her a hug so enthusiastic I almost topple her into the back of the jewelry booth’s tent.
She shrugs, managing to look both modest and pleased with herself. “It’s just business.”
“At which you’re excelling,” Tracy says. “I want to be you guys when I grow up.” Still in grad school, Tracy is the youngest of our little group.
“Well, let’s go find out if you will be,” Anna suggests. “I saw a Tarot card reader set up at the end of the block. Want to?”
Tracy checks her watch. “I’m meeting Lamar in thirty, but if there’s not a line, sure.”
“I should have told you to bring a date,” I say to Anna since she’s the only one who’d come unpaired to the festival.
“There’s no one to bring, and right now, I’m fine with that.”
I wrinkle my nose, wishing I’d kept my mouth closed. “Bad breakup?”
She waves my words away. “Not even a breakup really. More like a clusterfuck. Turns out he didn’t value what was right in front of him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. His loss, right?” Her smile is tight and thin, and though I nod in agreement, I don’t mention that I’m certain that the break-up was worse than she’s admitting.
“You’re doing the Tarot with me, right?” Tracy asks her. “We can find out if there’s a new guy on the horizon.”
“Or if my beloved is going to get his soon,” Anna says wryly. “Sure. I’m coming.” She looks at me. “How about you? Want to see what the cards say about you and Devlin?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Things are going fine right now. If anything bad is coming, I don’t want to know.”
Tracy frowns, and I immediately regret my words.
“Devlin and I are great,” I assure her. “I was just joking.”
“Oh, I know. I was thinking about what happened with the Range Rover. You’re doing okay now, right?”