Sea Glass Sunrise (21 page)

Yeah, he decided he was going to ignore that voice completely. Or at least for the next few hours. Life was short. And he was tired of being the dutiful one.

He motioned back toward his truck. “Lock up the blue beast and climb in the cab. Just shove whatever is on the seat into the back.”

She said nothing to that, but stood still and watched him as he continued to walk toward the diner. “Where are you going?”

He turned around, continuing to walk backward a few steps. “You like steak and cheese? Lobster roll? Or do you eat sissy girl food?”

“I’m more of a haddock sandwich kind of girl.”

He grinned. “Perfect. Give me ten minutes.”

Took him a little longer than ten minutes, but to his relief and absolute pleasure, Hannah was still waiting for him, leaning against the passenger door of his truck when he stepped out carrying two brown paper bags and two bottles of root beer. He had a water bottle under his arm, just in case she wasn’t a fan of soda. When he’d kissed her the night before, down by the docks, she’d tasted like something sweet, not like alcohol as he’d expected since she’d come from the party at the pub, so he thought soda might be the thing. “Why didn’t you climb in? Need a hand up? Shoulder still bugging you?”

“A little, but mostly I didn’t because you locked it.”

“No, I—” He stopped, shook his head, laughed. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Crime a big problem in Calais?”

“Only of construction materials and tools. In my occupation, you learn to lock things as you go.” He juggled the two bags into her hands and popped the locks with his key fob. “Here—”

“I got it,” she said, then left him half gaping when she gripped the folded bag tops between her teeth, pulled the door open and swung up into the seat like she was some kind of long-haul trucker. She set the bags on the seat next to her and reached toward him, wiggling her fingers. “Drinks?”

“Well, okay then,” he said, handing the bottles to her, but keeping the water. He couldn’t stop staring, and only partly because she kept surprising him.

She rolled her eyes. “What, did you think hotshot D.C. lawyers only ride around in little red sports cars?”

“So now you’re a hotshot, are you?”

She merely leaned out, and pulled the door closed in his face, then smiled at him through the raised window.

Grinning, he shook his head and circled the truck, realizing the scene with his father had already been shoved to the back of his mind and hopefully hers as well. Whatever else happened that afternoon, he could kiss her just for providing him relief from spending the next few hours chewing on that phone call. Which would have been the least of it. He settled in the driver’s seat and found her exploring the contents of the two brown bags.

“Both haddock?” she asked, glancing up at him from the bag holding two thick sandwiches wrapped in white wax paper.

He nodded. “Should be a thing of tartar in there. Wasn’t sure if you liked it.”

“What’s in the other bag then?” But she was already opening it, and immediately groaned.

“You hate hush puppies?”

“The exact opposite of hate,” she said, her voice taking on a somewhat reverent tone. “It’s bad enough I’m eating a fried fish sandwich a little over a day out from having to wear a fitted and tailored bridesmaid dress, but hush puppies? And root beer? Which is my guilty pleasure, by the way, how did you know? It’s all just—” She stopped, shook her head, her dark eyes all but glowing, as if she were looking at forbidden fruit.

He shifted in his seat, feeling his own forbidden fruit stir, and held out the bottle of water. “Does this help?”

She clutched one bottle of root beer close to her chest. “Don’t even think about reaching for this bottle.”

It might have been that specific moment, he thought, with her hair swinging against her shoulders, the pretty sundress softening her curves as she held on to her root beer for dear life, her beautiful dark eyes sparkling, all but daring him to make a grab for it. Or maybe it was the culmination of all the moments leading up to it, from the way she’d ordered him to be on his way while still strapped into her wrecked sports car, to how she’d felt stumbling into his arms with a restored vintage trunk and that Scarlett O’Hara dress pushing her breasts up for his viewing pleasure, to the smooth, professional litigator who had stormed the precinct in his defense just that morning. All he knew was that he wanted her. Right now in this truck . . . and in his everyday life. He’d known her for only a few days, and yet the thought of her not being in his orbit was simply something he didn’t want to contemplate.

He wanted Hannah McCrae. He wanted her in the seat next to him, he wanted her defending him in a court of law, he wanted her riding down the highway next to him, and galloping across a field.... He wanted her warm in his bed at night, and every single morning. He wanted her wherever he happened to be. He could picture her anywhere, and everywhere in his world, and he knew, looking at her now, she’d fit right in.

And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

“Your root beer is safe with me,” he said. Then, chuckling as she kept hold of it anyway, he stuck his key in the ignition. “Buckle up, Scarlett,” he told her, then shot her a wink and a grin. “Guess I’m hijacking you after all.”

Chapter Thirteen

Hannah had been trying to decide how she felt about this latest turn of events, and what she should do about it. The only thing she knew was what she wasn’t doing about it, and that was stopping him.

He didn’t continue down the highway to Machias, or turn back toward Blueberry Cove. Instead, he took the side road from the parking lot and headed toward the ocean. The Maine coastline was made up of thousands of little inlets and coves, and though she’d never been down this particular side road, it would eventually wind its way down to the water.

He didn’t say anything, so she let the silence settle over them, enjoying the comfort of it. She used a napkin to unscrew the metal caps from the bottles of root beer and tucked them in the drink holders on the dash. Then she opened the bag of hush puppies, inhaled the sweet and crispy scent before rolling the edges of the bag down and tipping it toward him.

“Thanks,” he said, fishing one out.

She did the same, then groaned as she sunk her teeth into the warm, breaded cornmeal bite. So what if she had to borrow one of Fiona’s Spanx camisoles for the wedding? These were just too good to pass up. And, frankly, indulging in something that felt good, even if it was just a heavenly bite of hush puppy, took the edge off the other sensory pleasures she’d been missing for some time now, and was suddenly craving once again. She purposely kept her gaze off her copilot . . . and his hush puppies. “You want your sandwich now or when we get to the water? Assuming that’s where we’re heading.”

“I’ll wait,” he said, then continued winding his way slowly down the point.

It wasn’t long before she could see stretches of bright blue water backing the occasional beach cottage property on one side of the road or the other, as the land narrowed toward the point. Piers extended out into peaceful coves, boats with brightly patterned sails bobbed at anchor, awaiting their next adventure. Colorful clusters of old pot buoys hung from garage doors and mailboxes. Boats and lobster traps dotted various yards in almost equal quantities.

Hannah let the familiarity and comfort of it wash over her and seep deeply inside, wallowing in the pure pleasure of being home again, of feeling that fortifying sense of belonging to something. Something good, something strong, something that welcomed her happily and readily, with open arms instead of sly, knowing glances. For the first time since coming back to the Cove, she didn’t feel like this was merely a safe haven to hide away in while licking her wounds. Rather, this was the place she felt strong, and good, and happy. The last thing she wanted to do here was hide.

All along the stretches that ran between the freshly cut lawns were clustered spears of pink, white, and purple lupines, adding more warmth and charm. Hannah smiled, thinking maybe it was just as well she wasn’t driving. She’d been looking at the lupines right before she almost sideswiped Calder’s truck. She didn’t share that thought with the man himself, but when she sent a sideways glance in his direction, he quickly let his gaze slide from her back to the road, an amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as if he’d guessed her thoughts anyway.

She dug out another hush puppy and handed him the bag again. Given the events of the last twenty-four hours, and the tension that usually sang between them, the ride was surprisingly peaceful, soothing. Gulls soared and cried overhead as they neared the shore and Hannah let the natural ebb and flow of her surroundings relax her and smooth out the last of the rough edges she seemed to carry with her all the time now, no matter how much she tried to simply let things go.

The road ended at an old boat ramp, fronted by a small dirt and sand lot barely big enough to turn the truck around. There were no houses down here, at least none right on the rocky shoreline of the little harbor. There were no roads that wandered around the shoreline either, though with the tide out, a swath of seaweed-strewn sea floor between the receding waters and the rocks had been exposed, creating a temporary beach of sorts.

Calder angled the truck so that they faced the open waters of the small harbor, with a view of the ocean beyond it, at the edge of the horizon. He pushed a button on the console and lowered both of their windows, then cut the engine. Other than the cries of the gulls and the water lapping the shore, the peace was complete.

He picked up the other bag containing their sandwiches and handed Hannah hers and a few napkins. He set the containers of tartar sauce on the dash between them. She didn’t unwrap hers right away, instead letting her head loll back on the headrest as she took in a nice, long breath of the briny air, then let it out slowly. “I feel like I’m a world away and home, all at the same time.” It was only when he answered that she realized she’d spoken out loud.

“Well, in a way, you are both of those things, right?”

She nodded, then started unwrapping her sandwich. “It’s funny, though. Part of me feels that way, and yet another part of me feels like I’ve never left.”

“You said it’s been a few years?”

“Yes. Work. Relationship. More work. I’ve visited, but I’ve never been back for long. Always too busy, too focused on my new world. The one I thought I wanted so badly.”

“But . . . no work now. Or, not the work you were doing.” When she looked at him curiously, he said, “On the phone, the night of the fire. You told Limp—uh, that guy that you weren’t working for your firm any longer.”

Her lips tilted as she mentally filled in the rest of the moniker Calder had tagged the jerk with. Probably right, too. “Yes, I did. And no, I’m not with my old firm any longer.” She wondered how she’d answer if he asked her where she was working now, whether she’d tell him the truth. Probably. Why not? It wasn’t as if he was going to tell Logan or her sisters. And she only had a few more days to get through before they would know anyway. Only that wasn’t the direction he went.

“And the relationship?” he asked, seemingly just as casually, but she noticed he’d stopped eating while he waited for her answer.

“No,” she said, the single word a bit rougher than she’d have liked. “Not any longer. Not for some time now. If there had been, I wouldn’t have let you—” She broke off, took another bite of her sandwich as she looked out over the water.

“Good to know,” was all he said. Then he went back to his sandwich as well.

She took a few more bites, debating whether to ask what she wanted to know, then decided what the hell, fair was fair. “How long has it been?” she asked. “Since you . . . became single again. You mentioned you were divorced, the first day we met,” she clarified. “Assuming you still are, that is,” she added, realizing she hadn’t established that, really, either. Not that it mattered, she told herself. She wasn’t getting involved with him, anyway.

“A little over two years ago now. Longer if you add in the separation. And no, there isn’t anyone else.”

She could feel his gaze on her like a physical caress when he added, “I wouldn’t have kissed you, or even touched you, if there had been.”

She swallowed, hard, and was thankful there was no food involved, or she might have choked. His voice did things to her, had, since the first moment he’d spoken to her when she’d had a face full of air bag. Only she couldn’t blame shock or trauma for the effect it was having on her now. “Good to know,” she managed, echoing his earlier reply. “Mutual decision?” she heard herself ask, then quickly added, “Never mind. None of my business.”

He answered anyway. “Mutual in the sense that she delivered an ultimatum and I didn’t pick the option that included us staying married.”

“Oh,” Hannah said, wishing she hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry. Regardless of why, it can’t have been easy. I shouldn’t have pried.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, sounding a little surprised by that. “We were married five years. I wanted family, and a different life from the one that had been carved out for me. My father got to know her father through business dealings and we were introduced at a company function. Both sides were very happy we hit it off.” He leaned back in his seat a little. “A business merger and a family merger.”

She glanced at him. “That sounds . . . less than romantic.”

“It was . . . and it wasn’t. We did hit it off, and I did love her, but I don’t know how much of that was because everybody else was just so damned happy we were together, so we were reveling in the joy and glow of it all and sort of overlooking the differences between us—I mean, how could so many people who loved us be wrong?”

“You’re the oldest, right? Was she?”

He nodded. “I am, yes. And she’s an only.”

Hannah made an
ooh
face. “That can be even trickier.”

“Indeed.” His grin resurfaced then, and she couldn’t seem to look away.

“Since you asked, I can do the same. How long ago? And who ended it?”

“We were together a year and a half, though I’d known him a little longer. Business connections. It ended six months ago,” she said, and for the first time, it felt like it had been a lot, lot longer ago than that.
Thank God.
“And I guess it was mutual, though neither one of us did the deciding. His pregnant wife took care of that.”

She couldn’t quite believe she’d said that. Out loud. To a stranger. Almost stranger. Okay, he didn’t feel at all like a stranger to her now, but that didn’t bear examining too closely.

“Wow,” he said, but calmly. He took another bite of his sandwich, as if nonplussed, or musing over her response. “I’m guessing you didn’t know.”

“About the wife? Or the pregnancy?”

He looked at her, looking amused even as he finished chewing and swallowing his last bite. “Either,” he said, then wiped his mouth with a napkin and crumpled that and the sandwich wrapper up, shoving them both back in the paper sack.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t sleep with a married man?”

“You mean other than the fact that you just said you wouldn’t have let me kiss you if you were in a relationship?”

He surprised her by reaching over and taking her sandwich wrapper and the half-empty bag of hush puppies, scooping it all up and depositing it in the backseat. Then he flicked off her seat belt, but when she tensed, thinking he meant to reach for her, he surprised her again by opening his door and sliding out of the truck.

He was at her door before she’d gathered her now scattered thoughts. He opened it and lifted his hands as she turned and swung her legs out. He took her hips in his broad palms as easily and smoothly as if he helped her from the truck all the time, as part of the normal course of things. He had helped her down, once before. But he’d taken her hand then, not her hips. And when she’d stepped to the ground, he’d stepped back a respectful foot or two. Unlike now, when she slid out and directly into his personal space, and he stayed right where he was.

His hands stayed on her hips, too, and she tipped her face to his, thinking she should probably do something, anything, to keep this from going where it was most assuredly going. But then he said, “I know because you’ve been hurt. Badly. And not just by Beanie’s Fat Quarters sign.”

She tensed a little, not liking the idea that she was so obviously wounded. It made her feel pathetic, and she was just starting to feel whole and strong again. “Like I said, breakups aren’t easy on anyone—”

“Shh,” he said gently. “That’s not why I know you were hurt.” He searched her eyes, then let his gaze roam her face as he lifted a hand and traced a calloused but gentle fingertip along her temple, over the still-tender skin at her cheekbone, then along her jaw, until his gaze came back to rest on hers. “It was the way you looked when you said it. Your voice was calm, smooth . . . but those eyes of yours were anything but. Someone capable of inflicting that kind of hurt wouldn’t have been that hurt.”

Hannah’s thoughts shifted instantly to Tim, who had absolutely been someone capable of that. She remembered their confrontation after his wife’s surprise appearance at her office. He’d been contrite and apologetic, then angry and accusatory when she wouldn’t forgive him. One thing he hadn’t been, she realized now . . . was hurt. Hurt that he’d done something so callous and cruel, hurt that he’d betrayed his wife and unborn child, or even hurt that he was going to lose her because of it. Mostly, he’d just been pissed off at having been revealed for the man he truly was.

It was like a weight lifted from her. She’d been plenty mad at Tim, once the shock and hurt had settled into something more rational and manageable. But the feeling that came over her now wasn’t so much renewed anger at him, it was . . . well, it was a sense of pity, of all things. Because Calder was right. Someone who could willingly and knowingly do what he’d done, to people he claimed to love, could never truly feel what she’d felt for him, never understand how glorious it was to love and feel loved in return. Tim’s love had turned out to be empty and hollow, but hers for him had been real and true. And rather than make her feel stupid and foolish, the knowledge made her feel proud, and strong, for having the ability to feel that way at all. She’d chosen wrong, yes, but she’d go on to love again. Tim would never love, not truly.

She looked at Calder, and blinked back . . . not tears really, but tamped-down emotions that were suddenly swirling inside her. “Thank you. For saying that. Not about me, but—”

“It took me a long time to get that,” he told her, stroking her finger along her chin, “to truly be able to see what I thought we had, what I knew I had, versus what she was capable of having. With anyone.”

“Then you’ve saved me untold months of emotional wrangling,” she said, surprised to hear the laugh come from her. “I feel like the grip on my heart just loosened a little, if that makes sense.”

“Perfect sense,” he said, and she believed him.

“What happened?” she asked. “To finally bring about the end, what with the family support and all. It couldn’t have been easy.”

“No, disappointing them was a big part of the problem,” he said. “What about your family? I’m sure it’s been good to have their support. I know it was important to me, from my brothers. Invaluable, really.”