Good Morning Heartache (13 page)

After clicking the deadbolt
into place on both the front and garage doors, Alexis grabbed the flowers. She
didn’t have the energy to shred them and send them back today. It was more work
than it was worth, which was apparently nothing because Richard hadn’t gotten
the hint yet.

She walked into the kitchen
and came upon a solution. She set the flowers on the kitchen counter and turned
on the water and garbage disposal. This was going to be a lot easier than scissors.
Two at a time, she guided the pink roses and white calla lilies down the hole
in her sink. The disposal didn’t have any trouble with them. As she finished
up, Sam barked at the door.

It was still early, but
Alexis was going to bed. She’d had enough of today.

Chapter 10

Ryan gripped the red door
handle on the passenger side of Alexis's Porsche as she weaved in and out of
traffic. She wasn't going fast. It was morning rush hour, so no one was going
fast. She was, however, going faster than everyone else. It was too early, and
Ryan hadn't had enough coffee to be jostled around the state by a wild woman.
He wasn't happy that she managed to con him into going with her as it was, and
adding several near death experiences wasn't helping his mood.

The main problem he had with
Alexis was that he liked her. A lot. Ryan couldn't think of a woman that he
found as sexy, intriguing, and honest as Alexis. Her full lips seemed to beg
him to kiss them, and her silky brown hair cried out to be tangled around his
fingers. It was scary, and he knew that he should stay away from her before
things went too far.

Ryan had promised himself
after his mother left that he wouldn't let a woman run his life and then ruin
it. He saw what love could do to a man, and he wasn't going to let it happen to
him. By throwing himself into his work and keeping himself at a reasonable
personal and emotional distance from women, he had managed to stay safe.

Until Alexis.

Every time he saw her, he remembered
her skin against his and her smell when he had breathed her in deeply. Usually
he didn't notice these things when he was with a woman, but it was difficult
for him to forget her. And it wasn't like she was making it easy. Every time he
turned around she was there, tempting him. He had to run out of McDonald's the
other night, or he would have done something stupid. Like proposition her right
after she said they couldn't have sex ever again. His groin had ached from her
words, and he had felt the painful stab of disappointment. But when she told
him about her life, and her fiancé, she had become real, vulnerable. He found
himself wanting to hold her, comfort her, but he knew that he couldn't. She
wouldn’t allow it.

He knew he enjoyed her
company, he certainly knew he wanted to sleep with her again, but he was also
getting this strange feeling that something else was going on. Something he
couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Alexis swerved onto the
shoulder of the road, and her tires thudded over the uneven pavement. She
passed a station wagon circa 1985 and pulled back into the left lane. Ryan
squeezed the door handle tighter, and she must have noticed him become tense
because she asked under a smile, “You okay over there?”

“I'm a little nervous. I
don't have the same death wish you do,” he said, not daring to take his eyes
off the road as she had.

Her unbridled laughter
carried over the purr of the engine, and surprisingly, she slowed down after
passing the next car.

“Better, Grandma?”

Ryan relaxed a bit, and his
knuckles returned to their normal color from the white they had been for most
of the ride. “Yeah, thanks.”

One of the other things that
frightened him about her was that he was sure she was crazy. She had to be. Her
story was tragic, but she didn’t seem to have any sadness. No one—especially a
woman—could be dumped two weeks before their wedding and turn out normal, and
based on his experience, she was anything but normal.

Alexis was fully immersed in
the driving experience, so he decided not to bother her with small talk. Not
that he had the ability to initiate or maintain small talk. He could give her a
business spiel, but he doubted she wanted to hear anything about form over
function or the various architectural styles that they passed along the way.

A couple of hours of
Tchaikovsky later and they were passing through the winding roads of a small
town situated along Outer Cape Cod. Trees lined the streets, and from Ryan's
point-of-view he thought it might be the perfect little town. The kind of town
that you saw in movies but never believed existed.

Watching two young boys
playing in the street, he could suddenly understand Daniel's position on moving
to Massachusetts over staying in New York. This area was better to raise kids.
It didn’t have the traffic or the noise, and Ryan couldn’t imagine being mugged
on the streets of this town or Maple Field. Ryan loved the city, but if he had
a family, he would seriously consider Daniel's offer to help start a business
in this state, especially considering he was going nowhere at Pontus.

Since he was alone, it was
more advantageous and comfortable for him to stay in the city. It was an easy
decision. There were better opportunities in New York, and Ryan figured he
would be lonely in a place like this. Staying in Maple Field for the last week
had been torture. The quiet unnerved him most of the time, and while he may not
socialize with the people of Manhattan, just having somebody within a few dozen
feet of him at all times provided some sort of comfort. It was like having a
bunch of friends he was so relaxed around that no one felt the need to talk.

The trees opened up as the
bay came into view, and the car moved at a steady pace up a small hill toward a
big white house. It was two stories, the second story peaking at the top so
that it looked like a tall barn. A covered porch wrapped around the side of the
house with tall pillars and a short, slotted railing at the back that
overlooked a private beach. The yard was well-maintained, and he could see that
someone had opened all of the windows. The Porsche turned into the driveway
that ran along the house’s side.

It was probably built in the
1920's, Ryan decided. Clean and classic.

Both passengers began
climbing out of the car and into the salty breeze of the coast. “This is your
house?” Ryan asked, examining the angles and slopes of the roof.

“Mine and my sister's,” she
replied. Ryan looked over at her and noticed that she, too, seemed to be taking
in the magnificence of the house. Maybe she wouldn’t mind an architectural
lecture, he thought.

Alexis looked over at him,
and they locked eyes. She gave him a slight smile. “We inherited it when my
parents died.”

He continued looking into
her warm hazel eyes across the hood of the car and felt the need for her
crawling across his skin. “It's beautiful.” Ryan removed his gaze from hers and
directed it to the curtains fluttering in the windows. “Is someone here?”

Alexis had moved to the
trunk. She pulled out his overnight bag and handed it to him.

“Sue and Mick. Sue's taken
care of the house for as long as I can remember. When she married Mick, he took
over the outdoor maintenance. I called last night to let them know we were
coming. Looks like she opened it up for us.” Grabbing her bag and closing the
trunk lid, Alexis started toward the porch, and Ryan followed her. “They live
in the guest house over there.” She raised a hand and pointed to a small house
that matched the larger one in color and style.

A white wooden screen door
off the porch let them into the house. Though the door was old, it didn’t creak
or wobble. Mick and Sue were doing a good job.

Alexis proceeded to give him
a brief tour of the simply furnished, comfortable house. He took everything in
like he was a student again, examining every ceiling beam, tile accent, and baseboard.

Ryan peeked his head into a
series of bedrooms until she stopped at one she called the “second master”
because it was the only other bedroom that had a small attached private
bathroom. The breeze off the bay rushed through the two windows that overlooked
the water, pushing out the warm air that tried to settle in the house.

“You should put on your
swimsuit and meet me on the sundeck. Want something to eat?”

Ryan gazed about the room,
taking in everything from the shabby chic bedding to the antique rocking chair
in the corner. Finally, he turned to Alexis. “Sure. That would be great.”

She gave him a soft smile. “I
shouldn’t have even asked.” Alexis turned and left the room, closing the door
behind her. Ryan set the small bag on the full-sized bed and unzipped it.

He could imagine Alexis
running around here as a young girl with pigtails and a dirty face. A place
like this would be great for a child. Ryan shook away the flash of his run-down
four-room house in Iowa. Back then, he was just glad he didn't have to live in
a single-wide. He'd since realized he deserved more from his parents. The house
didn't have to be the Ritz—or even as nice as this one—but his parents could
have kept it clean. It was no wonder his own apartment was called minimalist at
best, but more accurately described as sparse and sterile. This little room
felt more like home than any place he had lived in all of his life.

As Ryan unzipped the main
pocket of the bag, he considered Daniel's offer again. He'd never admit it to
his friend, but in this moment it seemed like a good idea. It probably wouldn't
seem that way once he left the Cape, and certainly not when he returned to New
York.

After undressing and
slipping on his knee-length navy shorts, Ryan made his way down the stairs and
out the screen door. It was still kind of early, and the lazy town was only
barely waking up. He'd seen only the two boys on their drive in, and since then,
the only human voice he had heard was Alexis's.

He turned the corner and
circled around to the back of the house. Down a short flight of stairs and
across a gray deck, Alexis stood looking out over the low tide. A white
swimsuit clung to her torso, and a turquoise sarong rested around her hips, its
length flapping in the wind against her long, smooth legs. A floppy straw hat
was draped over her head, concealing her hair and face. The style seemed too
conservative for her. He had expected spring-break-style beach attire from her
—a brightly colored thong and tiny triangles barely covering her nipples—though
he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just what he hoped to see. But the elegance
and modesty of her swimsuit was more appealing than the might-as-well-be-naked
suit he had envisioned.

He began descending the
stairs, his flip flops smacking against his heels with each step. Alexis turned
and looked at him briefly before taking one last look at the shore and moving
to a set of lounge chairs. She chose the far one and sat with her legs
stretched out in front of her.

Ryan took the other chair
and noticed a plate of fresh-cut fruit was set on the small wooden table
between them.

“That's not much of a
breakfast,” he commented.

“You're lucky this was ready
to go. I don't know if you know this, but I don't cook. At least not well.” Her
large sunglasses hid her hazel eyes, but he knew that they would have that
mischievous smile to match the one that had formed on her lips. It was
something she did when she thought she was being cute.

Ryan grabbed a piece of
watermelon. “I don't think that cutting fruit counts as cooking.” He sunk his
teeth into the soft flesh and was rewarded with the sweet juice rushing across
his tongue. “It’s good though.”

Alexis grabbed a strawberry,
“Yes, it is.” For a few minutes they enjoyed the sweetness of the fruit and the
sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

The silence was only
interrupted by Alexis reflecting aloud. “I forget how much I love it here. I
didn't come at all last year.”

“I don't think that it would
be easy for me to stay away. That is, if I had all the free time you have.”
Ryan grimaced at himself. He shouldn't have said anything, but it was one of
the things that really bothered him about her. She called herself a writer but
didn't write anything. She'd even laughed at the idea of working whereas he
couldn't imagine his life without work. In fact, it's what scared him the most
about starting his own business—he might not have any clients and then he
wouldn't have anything to work on.

Alexis didn't attack like he
expected her to. Instead, she flatly asked, “What occupies all of your time
that you wouldn't be able to spend your weekends in the Cape?”

“Work. I spend a lot of time
at the office or at sites.” Of course, if he wasn't officially working, he was
working on a design at the drafting table in his apartment. “Architecture is my
life.” It made him a little sick to say it out loud, but it was the only thing
he could rely on to remain constant. He could depend on physics to keep it that
way. Even if he got fired, which would never happen, he could continue to
design on his own; though, it wouldn’t be the same. There wasn’t a point to
drawing things that would only exist on paper.

“So, how come you came with
me this weekend? Why didn't you go work somewhere this weekend?” she asked, her
gaze turning away from the vastness of the sea before them to his face.

“I was planning on working.
I was going to go back to New York, but you left me very little choice in the
matter.”

Alexis laughed, and it
warmed a spot in the middle of his chest. There was a lightness between them
now. Before, Ryan felt nothing but the tension between them, but somewhere
between her swerving in and out of traffic and this moment, all of that tension
had disappeared, and Ryan was able to relax a little bit. He sat back and let
his shoulders sink into the lounge chair.