Winter's Path: (A Seasmoke Friends Novel) (4 page)

Perhaps leaving my furniture in Greensboro had been a mistake. I’d all but forgotten the floral-print couch and loveseat here, not to mention the knick-knacks and books. This place didn’t feel any more mine than my house back home. The walls were white, scattered with paintings of flowers.

The open floor plan allowed for creativity in furniture placement, but I wasn’t creative, and all I could see when I looked around were years of July vacations. The large living room was separated from the kitchen by an island. I liked the distressed white cabinets and blue tile countertops, plus the stainless steel appliances were new. Bare, pale hardwood was throughout the first floor, including the half bath. A sliding glass patio door opened onto the back deck and, past that, the dunes and ocean. The fireplace had never been used, and was also white brick with a distressed mantle similar to the kitchen cabinets.

White, white, white. Why didn’t this feel like a clean slate, then?

I scrubbed my hands through my hair and sighed. Restless energy coiled in my gut, made me twitchy. I hated things out of order. There was so much to do, and I only had two weeks before starting at the firm’s new location.

Jenny crossed her legs on the couch and put her phone in her pocket. She’d been texting one of her bartenders to make sure everything was okay at Winter’s Den. “I really like the feminine decor you got going on.” She smiled as if she’d been reading my thoughts, sensed my turbulence. “Any ideas what you want to do?”

My chest rose and fell rapidly as I shook my head.

She studied me a beat. “Are you on a tight budget?”

We never discussed money, so the question threw me off guard for a beat. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. Money wasn’t really an issue. “No.” I glanced around again. My things. My parents’ things. Boxes. White, white, white. Memories, memories, memories. “I...”

Hell. What was wrong with me?

Jenny rose and wove around boxes to stand in front of me. She tilted her face to erase the height difference and meet my gaze. “Breathe.”

I hadn’t realized I’d stopped and drew in oxygen. All right. That was a little better.

She nodded. “Trust me?”

What kind of question was that? “Yes.” Irritation pounded my temples.

Her lips curved in an understanding smile. “Your anxiety is never going to cease if you don’t make this place your own. I know you. This state of anarchy is driving you batshit.”

Yes! Yes, exactly. I nodded, utterly relieved she comprehended what I couldn’t voice.

Pulling her phone out again, she brought up a search engine. After a few swipes of her thumbs, she put the phone to her ear. “I have a large donation that’ll be ready for pick up tomorrow.” She spit out the address and exchanged some pleasantries while I stood by like an idiot. Once she disconnected, the phone went back into her pocket. “The Salvation Army’s bringing a truck tomorrow to cart away old furniture and whatever you don’t want.”

“Okay.” I never would’ve thought of that. The donation would go to a good cause. But that still left me with...stuff. Boxes. No furniture.

She crossed her arms. “Tonight, we’ll put the stuff you’re shipping to your folks in the kitchen, since that room is unpacked. Everything from your place you’re keeping we’ll put in your bedroom. The donation items we’ll put in here.”

The band around my chest began to loosen. A plan. A plan was good. Order and steps to fix the issue. Normally, I was good with organization, but I couldn’t get my shit together today for some goddamn reason.

Tilting her head, her smile widened. “Let’s go through the whole house. Start upstairs?”

“Yeah,” I croaked. She went to head in that direction, but I called her name. “Thank you.” I swear, what I’d do without her most days, especially the past few months, I hadn’t a clue.

We set up my old bedroom and hung the pictures, replaced the lamps. Everything from my folks’ old bedroom went into this one as a guest room, but even the pieces seemed new since they were placed differently. Clever little minx, she was. She stripped the third room to nothing but my exercise equipment, then started carting unused items downstairs. From there, we opened boxes to determine what was staying and going. By the time dark descended, we were both exhausted.

“Pizza?” she asked, slumped on the couch next to me.

I nodded. “Pizza.”

CHAPTER THREE

Matt

July—Two Years Ago

W
ith the rest of the Seasmoke crew headed back home after our yearly trip, I walked the beach alone, wasting time until later, when I was set to meet up with Jenny. This year, I extended my stay another week, since I had mounds of unused vacation accrued. And I needed some alone time to clear my head.

Letting the late day sun beat down on my face, I breathed in the scent of salt and brine. I had a great job, great friends, and a great family. Yet, my skin was itchy and I couldn’t wrap my finger around the issue. Call it a really premature mid-life crisis, but I swore I was...bored.

True, I’d always taken the path of least resistance and generally followed the rules. I tried to treat others how I’d want to be treated and worked hard. Maybe that was it. I worked, but rarely played. I wasn’t the adventurous type but, to be honest, I could use a little spontaneity. My life was pretty scheduled, and that was how I liked things. No clutter. No headache. What the hell was my issue then?

Perhaps a hobby was the ticket.

A text pinged my cell and I glanced at the screen. Jenny had messaged.

Something came up at the bar. One of my guys called in sick. Gotta handle things here. Can we hook up tomorrow?

I sighed, thumbing my response.
No prob. Catch you then.

Well, there went my plans for tonight. I headed back for the house and showered the sunscreen and sand off my body. I thought about popping in at Jenny’s bar, but she had this thing about the place being for locals only. In a city teeming with tourists, she wanted an establishment that catered to townies. By the sound of it when she talked about Winter’s Den, she had a good number of regulars from her grandfather’s friends to blue-collar younger guys. Many of the women who frequented typically worked at the hotels.

So, what to do? Sitting around watching the waves or a movie didn’t appeal. Plus, I couldn’t sit still to save my life. When we’d vacation down here, we usually stuck to the same haunts and the same people. Perhaps driving around would give me an idea.

Donning jeans and a black tee, I grabbed my wallet and keys, heading out. I drove the main strip, but most of what I found was family stuff and sights. Weaving my way south, I broke off the main roads. By now it was dark and a few night clubs spotted the roadside. One had a blue neon light and was aptly named Tedium.

Laughing, I found a parking spot and made my way inside. I showed my ID to a guy five times my size and a quarter of my IQ before being granted entry to the floor. The place resembled an old fishing warehouse and reeked of sweat. A loft with an iron railing wove around the second floor, where people were sitting at high top tables. Behind them, there seemed to be private rooms. Blue lights lit the second floor ceiling and a bar to my right. Straight ahead, dancers gyrated to a horrific blend of country techno. Though busy, the club wasn’t packed.

Right. Well, I’d wanted different.

I strode over to the bar, ordered whatever was on tap from a white-blonde, pierced chick manning the counter, and turned on my stool to face the room. Sipping my beer—bitter disgustingness, that—I wondered what I’d hoped to accomplish from this pit stop.

Halfway through my drink, I scanned the bar and my gaze landed on a woman three stools away. Coal lined her bright blue eyes, her lashes spiky. Her black hair was tapered in a short pixie cut and had confused chaos written all over the style.

She must’ve taken my curiosity for interest because she hopped down and made her way over, climbing on the stool beside me. She wore a white tank top and jeans that had more holes than denim. I had to guess her height near five-ten, and she was all legs. Piercings ran all the way up the shell of her left ear and halfway up the right. Both her arms were a sleeve of tattoos, too many to make out a design.

“You look out of place, boy wonder.” She sucked a bright green drink in a martini glass through a straw, her red lips the sexiest thing.

Boy wonder? To formulate a decent response, I let my gaze wander. Come to think of it, I did seem to be the only non-goth, non-bikerish around. “Looks can be deceiving.” After all, she of the tattoos and piercings had sat next to me. “What’s your name?”

“Cara.” She set her drink aside and eyed me as if her name was meant to be challenge.

“Pretty name.”

“For a pretty girl?” She rolled her eyes, her voice implying she spoke fluent sarcasm as a second language.

I took a deeper look and nodded. Under all that makeup, ink, and bling, she was quite pretty. Oval face, soft-looking fair skin, delicate features. Her breasts were full, but the rest of her needed a steady diet of cheeseburger. She was a different kind of thin than Jenny. “You are very lovely, Cara.”

Her eyes rounded, then narrowed. Her lip pouted as if she were trying to decide if she believed me. “Interesting. I think you actually mean that.”

I had to wonder if all her...additions were to get people to notice her or an attempt to disguise herself. Confidence radiated from her in waves, was evident in her posture, but that was deceiving, as well. It would appear no one had told this girl she was pretty in a long time. If ever.

Though I was no Ian Memmer when it came to charm or the seduction game, I had my moments. I knew my way around women, yet Cara was a different breed than I was accustomed. One night stands weren’t my thing either. I preferred dinner or something first. At the very least, the potential for the relationship to go somewhere outside the bedroom. However, this was a vacation, was it not?

“I do mean it.” The music made my head pound, but I didn’t want to stop this interesting play we had going on. “Would you like to get out of here for a bit?”

She dipped her chin. “I’m not a hooker.”

I ground my jaw. “Don’t believe I said anything of the kind. We wouldn’t be chatting if you were.”

Her eyebrows pinged. “You have a thing against hookers?”

Christ, she was frustrating. “No. But I don’t pay for sex, so a working girl would be wasting her time on me, and I’d tell her exactly that if the situation arose.” I studied her as she watched me, and it dawned on me I hadn’t once been itchy since she sat down. “How about a walk?”

“A walk?” Shock laced her tone as if I’d suggested we fuck upside down with a carnie videotaping. “Well, that’s a new one.” Slow blink. “Okay, boy wonder. Let’s walk.”

“Matt.” She shook her head once, and I elaborated. “My name is Matt.”

Her laugh was a short bark. “Of course it is.”

She went to climb down and I stopped her by setting my hand on her thigh. “What does that mean?”

Very distinctly, she cleared her throat. “Matthew, one of the twelve apostles and rumored to be a tax collector. You look like an accountant. If memory serves, Matthew means masculine and gift from God. Translation: You’re handsome, sure, but too good for the likes of me.”

She was as irritating as she was fascinating. “All that off the top of your head, from my name alone?”

Tapping her temple, she leaned foreword. “Photographic memory.”

My jaw snapped shut. “Get out. Seriously?”

“Yep.” She waved her hand. “Pull out your phone. Find any article. Pass it over.”

Too interested to argue, I did as she requested and pulled up the Wall Street Journal article I’d read this morning about the effect of global warming on vacation destinations in the distant future. I passed her the phone.

Her gaze quickly skimmed the page, scrolling a couple of times. “Boring crap right there. Here you go.” She handed me the cell. Before I could ask how to test her, she recited the report, word for word, only dropping subtle changes that were inadvertent. When done, she sipped her drink.

I was more than a little turned-on and not ashamed to admit it. “Color me surprised. What does your name mean?”

Another eye roll. “Very dear and friendly.”

It was my turn to crack up. My eyes watered by the time I was finished. “Proving names don’t always mean a thing.” I sobered. “Come take a walk with me, Cara.”

For a moment, she acted like she was going to decline, but then she shrugged.

Jenny

Present

I
’d crashed at Matt’s the night before. He’d been adamant I not ride the motorcycle home while tired. I’d slept in the guest room, though very little sleep had been involved. All I kept thinking was he was in the room right next to mine. I wondered if he slept naked.

Anyway, I arose early and started a pot of coffee for him, then left a reminder note the Salvation truck would be there at nine. I visited my grandfather—not a good visit—and packed a few items in an overnight bag. None of what I had in mind for Matt’s house with regards to decor was difficult, but it would be time-consuming. Best I be prepared for a few late nights.

It tore at my chest to see Matt worked up like that yesterday. I knew he ruled by organization, even more so the past couple years, but I was totally unprepared for witnessing it in person. The confident, funny friend I knew had vacated the premises and had been replaced by an unsure, almost frightened person I didn’t recognize. Whatever had happened to him two years ago was still wreaking havoc on his mind.

Thus, I was going to help him. I loved the shit out of that man and he’d done more than a thousand solids for me in the past. We’d get his house turned into a home,
his home
, as fast as possible in order for him to breathe easy.

The donation truck was pulling out of his driveway as I turned in. Cutting the engine, I grabbed my bag and headed inside, only to find him standing in the middle of an empty living room. Hands in his hair, he turned to me as if he hadn’t a clue who I was. His dark blue T-shirt was fitted enough to hint at his beautifully sculpted chest underneath. His biceps bulged. I sighed. Oh, those divots and grooves.

First order of business...shopping. “Let’s go, handsome.”

“Go?” His voice was hollow, confused.

I clapped my hands to snap his attention to me, not the barren room. “Shoes, Matt. Find some. I’ll drive.”

He absently grabbed his wallet and keys from the island, shoved them in his khaki pants, and slipped into flip-flops. “Where are we going?”

“To get you some crap. Lots of crap.”

Shaking his head, he breathed a laugh. Ah, there. He was looking more like himself.

“Grab these boxes. We’ll hit the post office first.” I stacked two and headed for the door.

Because most of the items had been donated, there weren’t many personal things to ship to his parents. Though they’d owned the house for years, there wasn’t much of anything to claim it had been theirs. Matt kept the photo albums and a few books, some board games, but nothing else.

We set the boxes in my backseat and made quick work of the post office. Once we were in the car, I turned the engine over and debated if it was best to pick out paint or furniture first. I glanced at him and did a double-take. His gaze was out the side window, jaw tense, body rigid.

I ran my knuckles over his forearm and he flinched. He jerked his gaze to mine, wide, lost. God, what was going on with him?

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I climbed on my knees and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. He sucked in a ragged breath and eyed me warily as if we’d never touched before. Matt was a very hands-on guy. He was quick with hugs or skimming his palm down my back or smoothing my hair. This reaction was unnerving and part of me was concerned he didn’t want my touch.