by Jules Barker
Nate looked at the scraps of paper in his hand and something about him holding both of them in the air, staring from one to the other, broke Laurel’s composure. She laughed, and Gran joined in, and soon Nate’s low chuckle swirled around the room with them.
Gran stood. “Well. I’ve done my part. I don’t want either of you to bother me with the nit-picky details. Nate, don’t let her choose something ridiculous like the whale-shaped bed she wanted when she was nine. And Laurel, don’t be stingy. Give the man some good work to do to keep his father’s business going, alright? Now shoo. I’ll wash dishes and you give him a tour and a list to get started.”
They helped carry dishes from the dining room table to the kitchen, but Laurel couldn’t get Gran to let her stay and help wash. “But Gran, I can’t take him on a tour. It’s not fit for company!” she said under her breath while Nate was getting more dishes from the other room.
“Your rooms are never tidy, and Nate’s not company.”
“Well… especially male company. I tried on so many outfits today and I’ve got my delicates hanging to dry, Gran!”
Gran laughed as Nate passed her a platter from the table to put in the sink. “I seem to recall Nate being in your room plenty of times before. Why, I believe he’s even seen your brassiere.”
“What?!”
“Isn’t that right, Nate?” Gran asked.
“Hmm?” Nate’s face was openly curious.
“You’ve seen Lars’s bras before, haven’t you? Didn’t you once freeze one with Simon?”
Nate choked on a laugh and leaned back against the doorjamb. “Yeah, we did do that. As I recall, Laurel was pretty upset with us. Didn’t you use it as a mud-catapult to get back at us later?”
Laurel covered her face in her hands, heat flooding her cheeks. Having Nate anywhere in the vicinity of Gran tonight was obviously the worst of the two options. She marched forward and grabbed Nate by the arm, practically hauling him out the front door. “Come on. Let’s do a tour.”
7
Such a Tease
Laurel let go of him as soon as they were out the door. When he started toward the front of the cottage, she directed him to the back instead. “The front steps have rotted out, but it doesn’t matter much because the front door is stuck, too. Can’t open it. That’s definitely going on your list.” She knew she was about to start rambling, but if she kept him busy and focused on the house then maybe he wouldn’t have time to bring up whatever it was he wanted to discuss. If it was the almost-kiss, she definitely did not want to relive that embarrassing teen encounter again.
Nate chuckled and took out his phone, typing in notes as Laurel kept talking. “The windows need caulking,” she said, gesturing, “but I can do that when I get a chance if you end up not having time. There’s not one huge project that I can actually afford; it’s really more of a list of complicated honey-do’s…” She tossed a glance back at him and missed her footing on the step up to the back porch. His hand shot out to grab her upper arm, keeping her from toppling, and she tilted into him for balance.
Oh. His shirt was so soft.
She leaned sideways with her shoulder against his chest, which was definitely not soft.
He was so close, in her space, and she couldn’t get enough air. Either that or she forgot to breathe. That happened sometimes, too.
“Um. Thanks. Where was I?” she asked.
He looked down at her, the corner of his mouth lifting slowly. “Honey-dos.”
Laurel cleared her throat. “Yes. You know. Lots of little things…” She turned and hurried up the stairs and held the door open for him. “Here it is. My little home sweet home!”
Nate stepped past her, looking through the open room and eyeing the three doors on the left. “Simon and I never came in here much, it being your mom’s studio and all. It’s nice! I didn’t realize it had a full kitchen.”
“Yeah. It was really an apartment, but mom claimed it for her own when we all moved in to the big house. There’s this kitchen-living room space, and the other half is a bedroom, bathroom, and a miniature storage room I use as an office.”
Laurel squeezed behind Nate as he surveyed the room and carefully swept her empty ramen containers off the counter behind them and into the garbage. When Nate turned to the sound, she pointed. “Look! The sink. Um. I’ve been dying to have a disposal added to it. Can you do that?”
Nate nodded. “That’s an easy one.”
While he stepped over to look, Laurel darted to the drying rack around the corner of the cupboards toward the bathroom and grabbed her panties and bras that were hanging to dry. Backing up a few steps while holding them behind her, she opened the door to the office and threw them in behind her. She slammed the door shut.
“What’s in there?” Nate asked.
“Nothing. Just the office slash storage. No project there.”
“Uh-huh.” Nate raised his eyebrows, but didn’t probe.
While she pointed out a few other things that needed fixing--a window that wouldn’t open, a bit of baseboard that had come loose, the small fireplace she wanted to add a mantle to--she wrapped her fingers in the fabric of her dress to keep from reaching out and picking up every item out of place. She didn’t need to impress Nate. He was just Nate.
But she did kick her gossip magazine under the couch when he wasn’t looking. He’d definitely tease her for that one.
“Well,” he said, stepping back and tucking his hands in his pocket as he did a three-sixty. “There’s certainly plenty of small things to do for you. Are you sure there’s nothing more you want? You mentioned a project you didn’t think you could afford.”
Laurel laughed. “Yeah. Pretty sure a full master suite is not in the cards for me.” She rolled her eyes.
“Master suite?”
“You know. Bedroom, luxury bathroom, full walk-in closet. Only the stuff of every little girl’s fantasies.”
“I am already familiar with a master suite,” he teased. “I didn’t know you wanted one, though. Which door is the bedroom?” He strode across the living room and opened the door closest to the front of the house.
Laurel squeaked.
“No! You can’t go in there!”
“I’ve already seen your bras, remember? Mud catapult?” He laughed. “But I won’t look around, I just want to check the walls.”
He was already in and examining the wall between the bedroom and bathroom.
Laurel darted around the room, tossing the comforter over her unmade bed and scooping up piles of clothes and laying them over the small armchair she squeezed in the corner. When she turned around, Nate was already out of the room and into the bathroom, knocking on walls and making sounds.
She followed behind him. Her box of tampons was sitting on the bathroom counter. If Nate noticed, he didn’t seem to care. Laurel leaned back against the doorway and crossed her arms. Well? And why should he care? Women had periods. Men shouldn’t be babies about it. She really didn’t need to be worrying about his sensibilities anyway. And so what if she had clothes all over her room? This was her house and he had barged in…
And to his credit, Nate didn’t seem to be bothered by any of it anyway. But, when he left the bathroom, she did grab the box of tampons and toss it in the bottom drawer. Just because they needed to be put away anyway. She totally didn’t feel anxious about him invading her personal space. Not at all.
She heard muffled laughter coming from the other room. What now? She darted out of the bathroom and saw Nate exiting the office...where she had thrown all her panties. One of them was stuck to the toe of his shoe and he was shaking it, trying to get the lace to unstick from his footwear.
Heat flooding her cheeks, Laurel bent over and ripped it away, wadding it into a ball behind her back. Why was he laughing? Why couldn’t he be the one embarrassed at her pretty underthings or intrigued instead of thinking it was funny? Yes, Nate, the little kid sister grew up and got boobs.
“You really do need a bigger cl
oset for all your clothes, don’t you?” he said, attempting to smother a smirk.
And suddenly Laurel’s anxiousness tipped her over the edge. She was done being grown up and mature and treating him like an adult friend she hadn’t seen in years. Done tying herself in knots trying to figure out how to act around him. If he wanted to treat her like the kid sister by teasing her all the time, then she would act like one. “Out!”
Nate chuckled at her demand.
“Out!” she stomped her foot and pointed. Oh my stars. Did she really just do that?
Nate put both hands in the air. “I’ve seen them before, Lars. It’s not a big deal.”
Wait. Seen hers? Or seen other women’s underthings? “I don’t care. Just go.”
She put her hands on his back and practically pushed him to the door. He went willingly but slower than she had patience for.
He paused just over the threshold. “Okay, okay. But you really don’t have to be embarrassed, Laurel. It’s okay. It’s not like I didn’t know women wear underwear.”
Laurel took a breath.
Nate took a step back. “Although, I have to say I think the lacy things you wear now would be more of a sieve than a catapult…”
Laurel slammed the door to the sound of Nate’s laughter.
8
Kisses and Misses
“If you wait another thirty minutes, Nate will be here.”
Laurel rolled her eyes. She was sitting back in one of two deep adirondack chairs on Gran’s porch. They’d been sharing a pitcher of lemonade and reading. Laurel had the newest summer beach read from a favorite author and Gran had… something about Hot Scots. It was part of the “world tour” the book club was doing; they’d read romances through the ages last year and now they were working their way through the countries of the world. Gran said that even the most delicious romances still had themes to explore and characters to cheer for. It didn’t hurt if they were handsome to boot. No one mocked Gran’s reading choices without getting an earful.
“Why do I even need to see Nate? He’s here for your after hours house repair call, not mine.”
Laurel had already met with him twice in the past week and a half. He’d come back to the cottage once, on his best behavior this time, to measure for a few of the projects. Then she’d met him down at the hardware/construction store to look through their catalogue of mantles she could order in instead of buying online. Support local business and all. Laurel wanted to support Mr. Mangelsson and his store, but she found the new help annoying. Vicki had been so willing to drop what she was doing and help Nate, walk him through the catalogue as if he didn’t know how to turn pages, nevermind that it was Laurel who needed to see what was offered. But Laurel was pretty sure she wasn’t interested in what Vicki had on offer that day…
Ugh. Laurel rolled her eyes again, this time at herself. Who was she to begrudge a woman the right to show her goods? Just because Vicki was pretty and flirtatious and handy with the power tools didn’t mean Laurel had to be snarky about it. What was with that, anyway? It’s not like she cared who flirted with Nate.
Laurel dropped her book on the side table between her and Gran and took an English toffee from a small tin, biting it and jiggling her foot. The sun was going to set soon and a gorgeous full moon should be rising. She could feel summer approaching. Memorial Day Weekend bunting was already hung all up and down Historic Main, the Trolley was flying its American flags, and stores were decorating their fronts in preparation for the first big tourist weekend to mark the beginning of summer. Laurel loved summer on the island. She didn’t have a favorite season—there was so much to love about each one—but summer on Moonrise Cove Island was special. It was like the island itself soaked up the summer sun and breathed a sigh of summer freedom.
That’s it. Laurel needed a swim. Gran hadn’t answered her question from before anyway. Too absorbed in her book.
“Gran. Gran. I’m going down to our beach for a quick evening swim.”
“But Nate will be here soon,” she said, sticking a finger in her book to mark her place.
“He was supposed to be here an hour ago.”
“Yes, but he texted. He got hung up on something.”
Laurel stood and gathered her things. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s only taking care of your drain and we don’t have anything to discuss about the cottage until he finishes his other work and can schedule me in. There’s no reason for me to stay and be in his way.” She bounced down the steps and walked backward across the grass. “I’m taking the warming stone with me and I’ll be done by 11:00! I’ll text you when I’m back.”
She didn’t hear what Gran muttered as she darted across the lawn.
It was the work of a few minutes to change into her emerald one piece, throw on a long white kimono coverup, and toss a towel, her phone, and the warming stone into a large tote.
She waved at Gran as she crossed to the back of the property. The hill fell steeply at the edge of the lawn, but the path that led to their private family cove zig-zagged to reduce the slope. Tall grasses and small bushes grew around the dirt path worn in by years of the Penwythe family traipsing down to the little beach.
The back of the island was jagged and rocky all along the western side. The tourist beach was on the more protected eastern bay, but a few properties had family beaches. And of course, the North end housed Pebble Beach, a magic beach for witches, that had private access only behind the Blackham family property. Thanks to the Heathermore runes, non-magical folk conveniently got distracted or detoured if they ever meandered too close.
Laurel’s cove, however, was more of an inlet. A small lip of land curved out and southwest, making a breaker for the waves that pounded the rest of the shoreline. It was mostly rock with a little sand thrown in, but there were some great boulders strewn along it, perfect for sitting and contemplating the universe and the setting sun.
Laurel slipped off her sandals and spread out her towel, dropping her tote and cover up. She carefully scooped the warming stone from the bag and stepped into the chilly water. This was the worst part. The water never got terribly warm even mid-summer, but it was refreshing once the air temperature picked up. Until then, Laurel had Lily Heathermore charge a large basalt stone with a warming rune and she’d just had it recharged last week. It was dark, smooth, and the size of a five-pound bag of flour. The stone had to be in the substance it needed to warm before it was activated, which meant a chilly dip for Laurel for a few minutes.
She walked into the water thigh-deep, sucking in her breath when small waves lapped higher than the rest. She lowered the stone into the water at her feet and recited the activation. Heat slowly spread through the water, warming Laurel’s toes and up her legs.
She used her feet to shimmy the stone deeper into the water. It was a trick Laurel had learned: to activate the stone first and move it with her before getting too deep. Then the water would be warm when she lowered herself into it.
Laurel swam in small circles, letting the stone warm a twenty foot radius of water. The sun cast a pink and tangerine glow over the horizon. Laurel knew from the lunar app on her phone that she had a small window of darkness between sunset and moonrise. She laid back and floated in the gently lapping water, watching as the stars blinked on above her. As night drew a velvet cloak over the sky and ocean, Laurel felt her eyes closing and her mind slipping back to just such a night ten years ago.
It was the night before Nate left.
It had been nearly two years since Laurel could be around him comfortably. He was Simon’s friend first and foremost, but after growing up together, he’d become important to her, too. At eighteen, the boy she’d followed, admired, looked up to like a nicer version of a brother, had grown bitterness inside him like a hard shell, protecting the sorrow and rage he buried deep.
And the thing was, Laurel completely understood why. When she bumped against his jacket, when she touched his backpack, she felt it all. His mom’s emotional battering. His he
lplessness when she began to get physical with his dad. Laurel was barely sixteen, and barely beginning to master the techniques mom and Gran so carefully taught her: how to mute her gift when needed, how to filter out different emotions, how to pinpoint specific memories she sought and how to process the lingering emotion after a reading.
Laurel had wanted to run from her gift for a time but there was no running from herself. So instead, she’d had to run from Nate—her kind and supportive friend—until she could figure out how to manage what she felt when she was around him. And so she didn’t realize that what she felt had changed into something new.
And now Nate was going to leave the island.
She had looked out her window when she heard his truck tearing up the hill and screeching to a stop. She had watched Simon run out, practically drag Nate inside the house, then take off in his own car a few minutes later. Laurel crept halfway down the stairs and hid in the shadows, listening as her mom cleaned and bandaged Nate’s wounds and Nate haltingly retold the bare details. His mom had begun throwing things at his dad again. She’d picked up a rolling pin and gone after him with it. And Nate had snapped.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
He had stepped between his parents and yelled at his mom to stop. Took a few hits from the rolling pin himself before ripping it from her hands and throwing it through the front window. He’d pinned her to the wall and been close, so close to raising his fist to his own mother. But he’d heard his dad through the haze telling him to let go, and he’d come to himself enough that he punched through the wall instead and took off. Called Simon. Ended up here.
When Nate broke down in tears as he told Diane the story, Laurel slipped away and out onto the back porch. Her heart broke for her friend. He shouldn’t have had to deal with all that alone. If only she hadn’t needed to avoid him these last two years.
