“Everything okay?” Because the way she said that didn’t sound quite right.
“Yeah, yeah.” She sighed. “But I have to tell you something.”
Oh. That didn’t sound promising. “Then we’ll talk.”
She reached up and touched his face, a featherlight fingertip along his beard. “Thanks, John. For helping her. And for being so…”
“If you say nice…” he teased.
“Actually, I was thinking…” She just smiled and let her hand fall to his shoulder, then down to the edge of his T-shirt sleeve, grazing his bicep. “Never mind what I was thinking.”
Never mind? Not when it was exactly the same thing he was thinking.
He watched her walk toward the house, not surprised when Mav followed her with his tongue out, panting.
“I get that, pupper. I really do.” He picked up the child’s mitt and the small catcher’s mask. “All right, now, let’s play ball.”
Destiny stared at the mask. “What’s that?”
“A confidence builder. C’mere.” He slid it over her face and adjusted the strap, careful not to snag her curls. “And this…” He handed her the mitt. “Is my lucky glove from T-ball,” he said. “It’ll change everything for you. Now, you stand right there, and I’ll be just over here. We’ll start with grounders. Slow and low, and you only have one job.”
“Wh-wh-what?”
“Never, ever, not for one second, take your eye off the ball. Got it?”
She nodded, her little face so serious.
“Let’s go, Des. Let’s make a ballplayer out of you.”
That made her smile and turn to where her mother was.
“Uh-uh,” he reminded her, holding the ball up with his fingertips. “Right here. Always. When it comes close, you scoop it right up in that glove.”
Kneeling down, he rolled the ball to her, hard and straight enough that it went right into that glove, which suddenly felt very lucky again.
Chapter Eleven
Summer stepped out onto her deck, holding a cup of not-yet-brewed tea, and released a mother’s long, soft sigh of exhaustion. It was the exhale she always let out after a busy day, a chaotic bath hour, the reading of a favorite book, and good-night kisses. Only, tonight’s kisses included one from a dog who somehow managed to be part of the whole process.
But now that it was over, Summer could have her tea in peace and relaxation.
Except that nothing in her felt peaceful or relaxed.
Despite having one of the most enjoyable evenings she could remember, it felt like every cell in her body vibrated with…anticipation and nerves, and a mix of dread and longing.
She wanted this “secret” off her chest, because the longer she waited to tell John about Travis Shipley, the more of a wedge it could drive between them. And right now, as she slipped deeper into her attraction, she didn’t really want anything between them.
True, they barely knew each other, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt an electrical current that arced like this with a man. And it wasn’t merely physical.
Watching him work with Destiny to learn how to catch ground balls, marveling at his patience and humor and, yeah, his graceful moves and those delicious shoulders, she could literally feel the pull at her heart and body.
Definitely her body. They could start there. They might end there, but they wouldn’t get anywhere if she didn’t tell him that she’d come to Bitter Bark to find Travis Shipley. He deserved to know that.
Holding her tea bag and cold water, she crossed the deck and leaned on the railing, looking out to the last drops of purple light in the mountains. Below her, she heard John’s footsteps downstairs on his covered patio, and even just that little bit of proximity woke the butterflies in her belly.
How could she spend a whole summer this close—living and working within a few feet of him—and not give in to the tension that tugged at her? Every casual touch, every shared laugh or too-long eye contact had her wanting to lean in and feel the brush of his beard against her mouth. Against her…everywhere.
“You coming down, Juliet?”
He walked out to the yard, near the fire pit, gazing up at her deck. He hadn’t started a fire yet, but she suspected he might as darkness fully descended over midsummer skies.
Sitting by the fire would be a good place to tell him her tale.
She glanced at the mug in her hand, suddenly wondering if she didn’t want something a little stronger than Sleepytime tea. Because she sure didn’t feel like…sleeping.
“Bath is done,” she told him. “Book is read. Baby is tucked. But I don’t think she’s quite asleep yet, so I don’t have Mav.”
“Mav is fine where he is. And I have some of Overlook Glen’s finest here, unless you prefer your tea.”
She set the teacup on a glass-topped table without hesitation. “You are my hero. Coming down.”
He was waiting for her at the bottom of the steps, meeting her eye to eye when she reached the second-to-last step. She could smell the lingering scent of soap and see that the ends of his hair were wet against the collar of a fresh T-shirt, curling and tempting her fingers to touch them.
Couldn’t she wait to tell him her secrets? Couldn’t she just taste one kiss before it all became a big confession?
“You look…troubled.” He grazed the lightest finger along her jaw, the touch so pure and inviting, her whole body responded by moving just a hair closer to him.
And there was the perfect opening…just handed to her. All she had to say was, I am troubled, John. I have to tell you something.
“Tough bath and bedtime routine?” he asked when she didn’t answer.
“No, not all. She’s very happy,” she said, a smile pulling. “Yogi.”
“Is that the book you read?” he guessed.
“I think your call sign could be Yogi. Wasn’t Yogi Berra a catcher?”
He chuckled, his finger moving to her hair, twirling a strand as he looked at her. “One of the best ever.”
“Well, as coaches of scared little five-year-old girls go, you are one of the best ever. So, Yogi.”
He made a face. “That’s not very…hot.”
She laughed, wanting to say, Well, you are. Instead, she put both hands on his wonderful shoulders and drew him a little closer. “Thank you for what you did out here before dinner. And during dinner, with all those tips and tricks about watching the ball. And…now. With wine and…” She slid her hands into those damp curls. “You’re sweet.”
And she didn’t want this all to come to a crashing halt when he found out she was here for one reason…and it wasn’t to adopt a dog, which they could have done anywhere.
“Sweet.” He dropped his forehead against hers. “I think that might be a promotion from nice.”
“Keep working,” she teased, lightly dragging her nails over his neck, enjoying the tension in his muscles. “You are most definitely on your way to sexy.”
“I’ve always been ambitious like that.” He lifted her chin slightly, bringing her mouth a little closer to his. “What do I need to do to get my next upgrade?”
“You could…” She felt her eyes shutter a bit, his warm breath on her lips, the deep ache in her body making her want to press against him just for the pleasure of feeling his hard chest against her breasts. As if he read her mind, and body, he wrapped one arm around her waist and eased her closer. “Do that.”
He brushed her lips with an air-soft kiss. “And that?”
“Mmm. Yeah.” She added pressure to the kiss, loving the tickle of his soft beard around her lips. Splaying her hands against his head, she deepened the kiss to elicit a low, sexy groan that rumbled in his chest as his tongue met hers for the first time.
All that teasing touch did was make her ache with a sudden need.
“Much more of this, Summer,” he murmured into the kiss, “and we’re gonna start a whole different kind of fire.”
She sighed into his mouth, taking one more taste of hi
s lips, like licking the last drop of chocolate before the dessert spoon was taken away.
“And I’m fine with that…” He leaned back, cupping her face. “Way more than fine, frankly.” He glided his thumb over her throat, making her knees nearly buckle. “I could kiss you until tomorrow. Until…” He smiled and inched her closer so she could feel every muscle and the effect she was having on him. “The end of summer, Summer.”
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes completely and leaned into him, the echo of all she had to tell him deafening in her head.
“But that’s not what you want,” he guessed. “Which I completely—”
She placed a finger over his lips. “Yes, it is,” she said, looking right into his eyes. “But let’s talk, okay? Make that fire and…talk.” She stroked the soft whiskers again. God, it would be so good with him. So easy and fun and hot and…damn it. “I have to tell you something.”
“Oh, that’s right.” He backed up a step, taking a breath for composure. “I forgot. Is it something at work?”
How to blurt out this story? It was complicated and emotional. Would he understand? Was he that nice? Or would he see her in a whole different light, like a woman who’d unfairly led a man on and then dumped him in the most unceremonious way?
“Hey, I’ll take that wine now,” she said.
“Come on.” Holding her hand, he guided her across the grass to the fire pit, where a bottle and two plastic glasses were on a table next to one of the chairs.
He poured with a little ceremony, then offered her a glass. “What should we drink to?”
She smiled and lifted her glass. “Your promotion from nice to sweet to sexy to…”
He raised one brow, waiting.
“Understanding.”
While she sipped, he studied her, a little confusion in his eyes, which softened to something sad. “You’re leaving,” he said, obviously misinterpreting the toast. “Quitting. Taking Des. Walking out and ending my Summer fling before it happens.”
She had to laugh at Summer fling. “Not quitting or leaving…unless you fire me and kick me out.”
Relieved, he finally took his sip, then set the glass down to work on the fire. “If you’re cold before I get this going, there’s a blanket on the back of that chair.”
She wasn’t cold, but she took the soft throw anyway, wrapping herself protectively. She watched him pile the logs with precision and a plan, admiring his grace and strength, his spare movements, the athlete’s body, all topped by that keen brain.
She took another sip and waited until the fire was started, and he sat down next to her and picked up his glass to take a drink.
“So, did you get the message that George Shipley called you?” she asked.
He stopped mid-sip, fighting to swallow. “Yeah, Karyn told me when she did the bank tonight and checked in.” Then he turned to her. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I didn’t get a message?” He searched her face for a moment. “Is that what you had to tell me?”
“No. Yes. Kind of.”
“Well, I got the message. Called him back and left one in return.” He put his glass on the fire pit’s brick wall. “He’s my landlord, at least for the moment. Did anyone tell you that? Did you say something you think you shouldn’t have?”
“I know who he is,” she said slowly. “In fact, I know…I know a bit about him.”
He stayed very still, except for the frown that formed and the fact that those shoulders she’d just admired so much tensed slightly. “You do? You know the guy who owns my building?”
“I’ve never met him, but I know his son, Travis.”
He stared at her for a moment. “I don’t,” he said. “I heard they have a son. Heard he was in…” He tipped his head a little, as if a puzzle piece had dropped into place. “The military. Afghanistan, right? Did your husband know him?”
She nodded. “Yes. He was very good friends with my husband, as a matter of fact.”
“Really.” She could hear the tiniest bit of something in his voice. Surprise, of course. Maybe disappointment. A little distrust. “The son of the guy who owns my building?”
She nodded.
“You didn’t think to mention that to me?” he asked, just enough misgiving in his voice that it knotted her stomach.
“I didn’t plan on getting to know you or living here or working…” She shook her head, as disgusted with the lame excuses as he probably was. “It’s why I came to Bitter Bark. To…meet him in person. I’d only talked with him on the phone and Skype before.”
He shifted in his seat, the wheels of his great brain almost visibly turning as he processed all of this and no doubt formed a million new questions.
During the moment of silence, she picked up her wineglass, seeking some liquid courage, but the fine Pinot Noir suddenly tasted metallic in her mouth, and she set it right back down.
“Did he ask to meet you?” John finally asked, putting his hand on hers as if that would help to soften his question. “To tell you something about your husband? Grieve with you? Or did you just want to help him through what must be a tough thing? Survivor’s guilt or…or PTSD?”
She almost smiled, because all those possibilities were so…John. Expecting the best, looking for a logical reason why she’d leave her home and come to a small town in North Carolina seeking a man she’d never actually met.
“Yes, he had survivor’s guilt. In fact, it’s fair to say that’s how it started.”
“How…what started?”
She tried to ignore the fact that he pulled his hand away as he asked the question.
“I don’t exactly know what you’d call it, but I’ll go with…friendship,” she replied. “Travis Shipley and I had a friendship. We never met in person, but it went on for quite some time.”
Silent, he listened intently, making her wish he’d ask a question, but sensing that he was just waiting for all that she’d tell him.
“He first contacted me to talk about Isaiah. They were really close over there. He’d heard a lot about me and wanted to, exactly as you say, share the grief.”
“But it went further than that?” he guessed.
“Yeah, it did.” After a moment, she bit her lip and looked at him. “After about a year of talking regularly on the phone, over Skype, and through email, Travis said he was in love with me.”
“And were you in love with him?”
She didn’t answer instantly, and she could practically feel John’s body tense in those few seconds of silence. “No,” she said softly. “I was grieving, lost, scared, and needed a friend who really knew Isaiah. Somehow, over time, Travis took that to mean…something deeper. I think he misinterpreted my openness and vulnerability as something more.”
“What happened?”
“I ended it, but not with much…grace.” She sighed again, wishing she had the right words that didn’t make her feel so awful. “I changed my number and took down my Skype address, and…I ghosted him. Hard. And that’s why I came here.”
“To pick up where you left off?”
“To apologize,” she replied without hesitation. “I owe him an explanation. I owe both of us closure.”
He stared into the flames, silent. Even under his beard, she could see his jaw tense.
She blew out a breath, realizing how hard her heart was pounding. “Please say something, John.”
“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, pushing up. “I’m going to get a glass of water. You want one?”
She looked up at him, seeing exactly what she didn’t want to see in his firelit expression. Sadness. Hurt. Uncertainty. Confusion. Doubt. And, worst of all, distrust.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks.”
He walked away and into the house, leaving her to wonder exactly what he’d say when he came back. If he came back.
Chapter Twelve
For once in his life, John was feeling and not thinking.
And it didn’t feel great.
He stared
into the sink as cold water poured from the faucet, the urge to throw some on his face much stronger than the need to drink any. What he really needed was time to think—not feel—and decide exactly what this meant, if anything.
It meant he really couldn’t trust Summer completely. Why hadn’t she told him this on day one? What would have changed if she had? Was she telling the truth about not being in love with Travis? About wanting only to apologize? Because this was a mighty big trip to make—with her five-year-old—just to say something she could have handled over the phone or in an email.
And did she realize Travis Shipley wasn’t just a guy from Bitter Bark, but the son of a man John was trying to close a deal with? Maybe it didn’t matter, but maybe it did.
He pushed the faucet handle with a little more force than necessary, shutting off the stream and all the damn feelings rushing through him.
Be freaking logical, John. First of all, it was way too soon to care this much. This was a fling, not a relationship. Not even that yet. Just an acquaintance with a woman who happened to be in town…to find another guy who used to live here. Who cared? Yeah, she might have told him sooner, but she’d told him now.
So now they could…fling.
Even the word made him feel a little sick. Was he even capable of that kind of thing? He wasn’t Aidan. He wasn’t Alex. He had to be true to himself. And his unexpected response to this news kind of proved he wasn’t born to be cavalier about things like this.
Taking a long, slow inhale to steady himself, he skipped the water after all and headed back to the fire pit, surprisingly relieved to see her still sitting, waiting for him.
“You okay?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Sure, yeah. Fine.” He settled back in his seat, questions rising. “How about you?”
She gave a wistful smile, a mix of sadness and, oh hell, pity in her eyes. Damn it. He didn’t want that. “I’m suffering from my greatest affliction, I’m afraid.”
He lifted a questioning brow.
“Guilt,” she said. “It’s my personal demon and always has been.”
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