The second time around, p.20
The Second Time Around, page 20
“I didn’t mean to hurt you or lead you on.” Her voice was soft and intimate, drawing him closer.
“I’m the one that started it.”
“I don’t want a relationship.” The dark dreaminess in her eyes belied her words. He knew she liked him back. Her determination to deny them both the pleasure of being together was, unfortunately, her stupid choice to make.
“I will respect that.” But he hated it. “Whatever you want.” It scared him how much he meant it. He wanted only the best of everything for her.
Her bottom lip quivered. He wanted to suck it between his teeth. Torture. “Thank you, Smith.”
He also hated that his dad was angling to make a move on Claire, but he didn’t say that part. Instead he laughed. “All right, then. That’s settled. Let’s get the queen some ice cream.” He stood, walked back to his chair, and put on his shirt and sandals.
He led her down to the beach path. In the aftermath of the sunset, streaks of pink and gold painted the sky. Soft music wafted from speakers set along the path. It was the epitome of romantic settings. Cosmic torture.
“Look.” She pointed to the dark water and let out a happy coo. “Dolphins.”
Their fins reflected the glittering sky as they breached. Now it was as romantic as it gets.
“Hawaii is as amazing as everyone says, isn’t it?” Her dress fluttered in the wind blowing in from the ocean.
He didn’t tell her that she was the most amazing thing here. “Wait until tomorrow when you’re sunburned all over. You’ll see the dark side of the island then.” He scanned her up and down. “Maybe not, since you’re wearing an entire curtain.”
She burst out laughing. “Make fun of me all you want.”
Teasing felt like a good way to move into the friend zone. Die. “You really took the term cover-up to the next level.”
She pulled a face.
“The circus called; they want their tent back.”
“Okay. Stop.” She poked his arm. “I take back what I said about all the teasing you want. I underestimated you.”
“Something you should never do.”
She got serious. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Yes. I’m learning that.”
A spark zinged down his core. “And I’m kidding about your dress. You have great style. You always look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Her tone came out heavy with sincerity.
So much for keeping it light.
She turned away from the glorious view and continued along the path. He took a few highly oxygenated breaths before following. At the ice cream hut, they got in line behind some teenagers.
“I’d ask you what you want,” Smith said. “But you want the pineapple whip.”
“I want to try the mango.”
“You want wrong.” He leveled a stare at her that made her giggle. “I see you’re keeping up the theme of being difficult. But for four dollars and fifty cents, I’ll allow it.”
“You might want to get an extra-big pineapple in case I decide I’d rather eat yours.”
He chuckled. Was he going to keep smiling like a smitten buffoon all night? When they got to the window of the grass-and-sticks hut, he ordered a child’s mango and a monster pineapple. While they waited, they watched the teenagers. The kids yelled and laughed and touched at every chance they got. And they were having fun doing it. Living fully. Vibrant. Smith wanted a little more of that in his life. He’d been so serious these last few years, everything planned and scheduled. Working hard in his career, never missing a gym session, going to bed at a decent hour. Eating his vegetables. Acting grown up.
Their order came up, and they carried their treats to a secluded bench with an ocean view. The sky was a deep-blue color now, the stars beginning to peek through.
Claire took a bite of her mango ice cream. She took a second bite.
“Don’t tell me I should have gotten you the big one.” He sat on the bench next to her.
She held out her cup.
He reluctantly took a bite. “It’s good,” he admitted.
“It’s great,” she said.
“No. This is great.” He held out his pineapple whip.
She spooned up a bite and slid it between her lips. A seductive grin spread over her face. “Yours is better than mine.”
Delight rushed through him. “Oh. The validation.” She reached for another scoop of his, but he pulled it out of reach. She scooted closer to try and get it. Her dress had hiked up, and her bare thigh pressed against him. “Say it.”
Her gaze went from the treat to his face. Her lips were within inches of him. Now was the time to kiss her, when her mouth would taste cold and sweet and with the stars as witness.
“Say it.”
She pursed her lips.
It took everything in him not to close the gap. He’d done that before. It hadn’t gone well. It was her move now. And she didn’t want to play.
“You were right, Smith.”
He nodded like a badass and passed over the ice cream. He leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
“You’re acting like it’s the first time it’s ever happened.”
He coughed out a laugh. “Well played, Big C.”
“Big C?”
“I’m trying it out.”
“And?”
“Could be better.”
She passed him the pineapple whip, their fingers brushing. It was like he was thirteen, noting every touch and glance.
“So, are you painting again?”
She looked out at the ocean. “Yes.”
“The inspiration came back. That’s great.”
She glanced sidelong at him. “Yeah. You could definitely say the inspiration came back.”
By the heaviness of her words, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Thanks for asking,” she said. “It was nice of you to remember.”
“Of course. It’s super cool that you’re an artist.”
She looked out at the water. “Stevie didn’t think so. He liked the sales, obviously, but he didn’t like that I took over the garage with my mess. He wasn’t interested in seeing my work. At first, I’d ask him for feedback, but when it was clearly a chore for him to come to the garage and try to find nice things to say, I stopped asking. We were walking downtown once. I stopped in front of the gallery window that had my painting on display. I asked him what he thought of it. He said it was fine if you were into that sort of thing, but he wouldn’t spend money on it. I didn’t tell him it was mine.” She sighed. “Honestly his ambivalence made me angry and resentful, which made me paint more. So I guess he was supportive in his own way.”
Smith silently cursed the dead dickhead. His hand fisted, snapping the plastic spoon. He passed Claire the ice cream. “I’ll get a new one.”
She handed him her spoon. “We can share.”
He took a deep breath, trying to conquer the fury he felt on her behalf. “You didn’t deserve that. I’ve seen your artwork online. It’s beautiful and powerful and unique. I know art is subjective, but it sucks that he wasn’t supportive of you. I wish I could take away the hurt he caused you.”
“When you say things like that, I wonder what the catch is. I can’t help thinking that you’re working an angle.”
His head tilted back, offended. “I am not. It was not okay for him to belittle you.” His voice was full of emotion.
She put a hand on his leg, her fingers cold from the ice cream, yet his thigh went hot. “I’m sorry. I believe you. At least I’m trying to believe you. I know that you’re right. I didn’t mean to doubt you—it’s more that I’m still working on not doubting myself.”
He softened. “Good.” He gave her a half smile. “Keep working on it until you realize all the way through your soul that you are top notch.”
She grinned. “Top notch?”
He chuckled. “The toppest.” It seemed like the safest adjective to go with at the moment—considering she didn’t want the relationship he ached for.
“Thanks, Smith.” His name was honey on her tongue. She settled back against the bench and took another bite. “So, how’s work? Houses selling well in Newport?”
“They always are.”
Passing the spoon back and forth, they talked and talked. About work, restaurants, hobbies, books.
“Do you want any more?” Smith held out the last of the melty mound.
She shook her head. “I’m getting too cold to eat it.” Goose bumps carpeted her skin, and she’d folded her arms against her body.
He tossed the ice creams in the trash, then slid close to her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her against the warmth of his side. She rested her head on his shoulder. A long moment of silence passed, but it was a comfortable quiet of companionship. She felt so good, so right tucked under his wing.
She spoke in a whisper. “I am sorry about the other day, Smith. I should not have let that happen.”
“It’s my fault. I kissed you.”
“I kissed you back.”
He chuckled, low and gravelly. “Yes, you did.”
“I couldn’t stop myself.”
His body warmed, felt every point of contact down his side. “You seemed to stop yourself just fine.”
“You’re angry.” She glanced up at him. Seemed to realize how close they were and turned her face back to the nightscape.
“I’m not mad. I’m just having a harder time moving on than you.” His arm tightened around her, as if he could keep her from slipping away. Make her want him back, yet knowing he was powerless.
“I don’t mean to keep bringing Stevie up, but I owe you an explanation, and I’m trying to explain why I’m so screwed up.”
“You’re not screwed up. You’ve been through a lot. I’ll be your safe space. You can tell me anything. I want to know.”
She softened deeper against his side. His heart throbbed for her—it wasn’t the only organ.
“I loved my husband, but . . .”
Smith barely stopped himself from saying rude things about a dead man he’d never met.
“It did not always feel good to be loved by him.”
The air seemed to wither in his lungs as the pain of her words settled over him. “He was a fool for not realizing what a treasure he had with you.” His heart cracked for her. “He was one man. I’m not him.” It did not always feel good to be loved by him. What a terrible truth. He was honored she’d shared her sorrow with him even if it made him feel sick.
Beneath her cool exterior there was a vulnerable, broken woman who was very, very afraid. He wanted to fix it, but he felt powerless. All he could do was sit here and hold her close. Clearly she wasn’t willing to find out what it would feel like to be loved by Smith. Although, he swore if she ever gave him the slightest chance, he’d make damn sure that she’d never be able to say the same about his love.
Finally, she spoke again. “Why have you never married?”
He exhaled. “I saw my parents’ marriage. They married when I was four, so I was there for their entire relationship.”
“Literally.”
His lip quirked up. “Before Helen, my nana mostly raised me. Dad was working long hours to build his career. I used to watch out the front window of Nana’s house in Connecticut, waiting for my mother to appear. When Dad married Helen, I stopped watching because my mom had come.”
“That’s really beautiful.” Claire’s voice was soft.
“Dad and Mom were good to each other. They had their fights, but nothing big or scary or cruel. Dad was a bit bossy. He thought he outranked her sometimes, but Mom never seemed to mind. I think she liked being taken care of in that way and treated like a prize. I want more of a partnership.”
Claire mumbled a noise of agreement and nestled closer.
“But they made it work well. I hadn’t found a woman who was worth it, who I was willing to put the work in to make the relationship succeed.” He shrugged, embarrassed he’d said hadn’t instead of haven’t. “Maybe it’s my fault. I know that I’ve changed these last two years with Mom’s health troubles and her passing. Life feels shorter and more valuable. I always wanted to have a family sometime in the future, but now I feel the clock ticking.” He sighed. “But I don’t look back at past girlfriends and wish I were still with them. I can’t see myself growing old with any of them. I want a real partner. A best friend who wants to share her life with me because she likes me and my company. I haven’t found that yet, but I need to do a better job looking for it. Sure, I’ve been in love. At least there are three women I’ve said it to, but I’m not sure that was real love. It wasn’t the deep, abiding kind that I hear people talk about. The all-consuming, sacrifice-everything kind.” He stopped talking as he realized he’d never felt before what he was feeling now. For her.
“You’re a good man, Smith.” She was looking at the stars, not him. “I’m sure you’ll find a woman who truly deserves you.”
The kindness in her rejection didn’t soften the blow. His chest felt as if a giant hand were squeezing his heart like a lemon. The juice burned down his core like acid. He grappled toward safer waters. “I mostly feel bad for Tommy. Mom was a good woman, doting and patient and didn’t take herself too seriously. Selfless.” He paused, realizing how that might have sounded offensive. “Of course, he’s lucky to have you in his life now.”
She waved a hand, dismissing his worries. “You’ll make a fabulous father someday.”
He looked out at the inky waves. “I hope so. If I get to be so fortunate.”
“I’ve seen how tender you are with Tommy. Your child will be the luckiest kid in the world to have you loving them.”
Warmth encircled his heart. He looked down at her, couldn’t bear it, focused on the ocean. “A little girl, I think. We don’t have enough of those in our family.” He could picture her in his mind, with big eyes and unruly curls, holding tight to his thumb with her tiny hand. He yearned for her.
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
If Claire didn’t have such a compassionate look on her face, he’d think she was deliberately torturing him. She leaned closer. His arm tightened around her back, and his palm cupped the narrow muscles of her upper arm. He had to force himself not to explore. The conversation faltered, and silence wrapped them together. The waves caressed the beach in a soothing, endless rhythm. Stars painted the sky in brilliance. Sweet pineapple and bitter brine danced in his nose.
“Tommy . . . he makes me . . . I love that little boy.”
He had to tilt closer to hear her whispered words before the wind stole them and carried them away to the place of secrets and dreams.
“He makes me wish for a son.” She stared at the vast expanse of water as she made her confession. “After Edith, I swore I would never, ever again. I was exhausted. Overwhelmed. Defeated. Stevie even got a vasectomy. Things got rough.” Her voice caught. She pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest. Like a child herself. He resisted the urge to cradle her on his lap. “But these last months with Tommy, I’ve felt the fear and the resentment slip away. He’s reminded me of the joy and satisfaction that come from creating your own little human and helping them find their way. He’s softened me again.” She looked at Smith, her eyes reflecting the glittering heavens. The depth of her gaze sapped the breath from his body.
His chest filled with want and sorrow and inadequacy. “I’ve seen how sweet you are to Tommy too. Would you ever consider having another child?” It scared him how much he wanted her to say yes.
She shrugged. “Six months ago, I would have said no, but now, with Tommy reminding me how much I love tending to a new life, seeing again the way children view the world with curiosity and open hearts, it helps me to be more open and hopeful and exuberant too. I think just maybe I would love to have another child. I’m still fertile. At least I’m healthy and have regular periods and all that.” She grimaced. “TMI, sorry.”
He didn’t mind. He shouldn’t hope, but he was thrilled, and he enjoyed the intimacy, the feeling that she was sharing things with him that she’d kept private for years.
“I just don’t think it will be in the cards for me.” She lightened her tone. “I’ve already played my hand. And I’ve got a whole lot to be grateful for.”
He stayed quiet, listening without giving in to the urge telling him to demand she stop being stubborn and give love another chance. He’d be happy to knock her up right now. Classy, Smith.
Before he could think of some clever bit of optimistic wisdom, she gave him a half smile, and with a squeeze of his thigh, she slipped out of his arm, leaving him cold.
Dad could give her Tommy as her son, truly. Dad wanted Claire. Claire wanted Tommy. Would she agree? Please, no. The thought made Smith nearly as sick as the notion of how much he wanted to give her a son—the traditional way.
She picked up her beach bag. “Thank you for tonight. I’d better get back. Tommy’s going to be up early tomorrow.”
Smith walked by her side with his hands in his pockets. She seemed as subdued as he. Weighty matters of the heart hung heavy. She’d basically admitted to never wanting another man again. And he’d just fallen a little more in love.
Chapter 29
BANKS
Banks, Tommy, and Claire waited on the beach with a handful of others from their work group. Banks was glad Smith had gone surfing this morning. It had been a tad disconcerting how late Smith had gotten home last night after taking Claire for ice cream. Smith had assured him that all was well. He and Claire were friends now. It was the way his son had said it, the unreadable emotion in Smith’s eyes that had put Banks on edge.
“Have you been snorkeling before?” Banks asked Claire.
She rubbed sunscreen over Tommy’s face and neck. “Yes.”
“It’s my first time,” Tommy said, his brows tight.
“It’s going to be your favorite thing.” Claire took Tommy’s hand and squeezed.
A young man with long blond hair, sun-browned skin, and faded tattoos approached with a big box of gear. “Rules: You may not touch the turtles. They are federally protected, and you could be fined a massive amount. I’m not kidding—class C felony with fines up to $50,000. But the truth is, it’s dangerous for the turtles. You can make them sick. Don’t do it. Don’t touch anything. Respect the wildlife. Enjoy the beautiful view without destroying it. Can you manage that?”
