Tragic

by Devney Perry

  I hadn’t been back to his cabin or his shop in the last two weeks. We hadn’t shared a meal, or conversation for that matter, so at least our relationship was limited to physical closeness only.

  But I’d taken to staying up at night, waiting for his faint knock. I sat on the couch even on the nights when he wasn’t due to come over, just in case. And during the day, he crept into my thoughts on an hourly basis.

  Who was this man who’d swept into my life? What was his story? We’d agreed on casual, but feelings were beginning to stir.

  Did he feel them too?

  Spending time with him, kissing him and holding on to one another, was something I’d come to depend upon. I reveled in his company, his smell in my bed and his hands on my body.

  Kaine chased away the homesickness. When he held me in his arms, I wasn’t alone.

  When he was in the room, I wasn’t the loneliest person there.

  He was.

  Kaine never mentioned family or friends. I hadn’t seen another person come to his house except me. But something had caused him to retreat inside himself. Something had caused the severe pain that lingered behind his eyes.

  What had happened to him?

  I doubted I’d get the answer to that question. Kaine kept his demons locked up so tight they were silently wreaking havoc on his soul. He seemed determined to fight that battle alone.

  My wish for him was to find friends or confidants, like the ones I’d found here.

  “I’d better get home and check on Roman.” Willa drained the last of her water glass.

  Her son was only seven months old and she was still nursing. Her mom had volunteered to watch the baby tonight so Willa could have a little adult time.

  She’d come down to eat pizza with me and Thea—and because she liked to visit when Jackson was working. But dinner had long since ended and even with the fun we were having, I didn’t blame her for wanting to get back home.

  “I’ll walk you out, babe.” Jackson rounded the bar. “Thea, you good for a few?”

  “Take your time,” she told him. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

  We all hugged Willa good-bye, and I waved as Jackson escorted her outside. As soon as the door closed behind them, Thea went back behind the bar.

  She’d only come to the bar tonight for some girl time. It was technically Jackson’s night to work. But that didn’t stop her from serving customers or making drinks. Just like I couldn’t go into Logan’s office at their house and not jump into my work, Thea couldn’t be in this building without doing something.

  “So . . . I did a thing,” Thea announced. “Made a thing, actually. In my workshop.”

  “Yeah?” My shoulders perked up, excited to hear about her latest art project. She wasn’t just a successful business owner and wife to a billionaire philanthropist, Thea was also an incredibly talented artist.

  If I didn’t love her so much, it would be easy to be jealous.

  “Do you remember that day we went to look at your house for the first time? And we hiked the ridge?”

  “Sure.” That was the day I’d seen Kaine for the first time.

  “You know the man we saw up there?”

  I nodded. Intimately.

  “I kind of couldn’t get the image of him out of my head. So I used it for a piece. I brought it tonight.” She held up a finger and hurried down the length of the bar to the hallway that disappeared behind the bar to her office and the kitchen. It didn’t take her but a moment to come rushing back out with an unframed canvas in her hands.

  “I don’t know why.” She held the canvas back so I couldn’t see the front. “But I just had to capture him. He was so . . . raw.”

  Raw. That was the perfect way to describe that moment.

  She glanced at the painting again, worry settling on her beautiful face. For as talented as she was, she was oddly secretive about her art. There was no doubt she could make a killing, selling her unique pieces in high-end galleries. But for the most part, she did it for fun. It was her outlet. Even when Logan had offered to buy her a nice studio, she’d refused. She created her pieces in an old garden shed that was practically falling apart.

  “Hand it over.” I motioned for the painting.

  “I’m not the best painter.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re talking to a woman who can’t draw stick figures.”

  She smiled and reluctantly turned the canvas. The painting stole my breath away.

  Thea had captured Kaine’s pain and trapped it on that canvas. It lived underneath the oil colors, jumping off the painting to settle heavy on my heart.

  “Wow,” I whispered, unable to blink or look away.

  It was a stunning piece, but it physically hurt to look at. Just like the day we’d seen him on the ridge, I had the overwhelming urge to hold him. I ached to take some of his pain away, absorb it like a dry sponge.

  I swallowed hard and forced a smile. I didn’t want Thea to think my shocked reaction was because it was a bad piece. It was beautiful. Achingly beautiful. “You did an incredible job.”

  “You think?” She tapped her finger on the bar.

  “It’s amazing. But I, uh . . . I have a confession.” I sighed. “I know him.”

  I’d kept my casual relationship with Kaine a secret from everyone, mostly because I hadn’t known exactly how to describe it. And because I hadn’t known if it would last. But it had gone on long enough that I felt like I was keeping a secret from my friend.

  “How?” Thea asked.

  “He’s my neighbor.”

  “Hmmm.” She nodded. “I wondered if he lived up there.”

  “There’s more.” I set the painting down. “We’re kind of . . . hooking up.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You are?”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “It’s nothing serious. Just a casual thing.”

  “Casual?”

  “I’ve never done that before. Have you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m capable of casual. I mean, look at me and Logan. I tried casual with him, got pregnant and basically thought about him every day for six years.”

  Thea stared at me for a long moment before she smiled. “I think this is a good thing.”

  “You don’t think it’s too soon?” I asked, voicing one of the many worries about my encounters with Kaine.

  “You’ve been divorced for months. You and Adam were separated long before that. I think finding someone new is overdue.”

  My shoulders fell with immense relief. I needed to hear those words. I needed to have someone I admired and trusted tell me it was okay to move on from Adam.

  “Do you like him?” Thea asked.

  “I do,” I admitted. “Neither of us is interested in anything serious. We don’t really know anything about one another, but that kind of makes it fun. It’s all different for me. But for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I need to act a certain way to impress him. It’s . . . freeing.”

  Thea’s smile widened. “And he is not hard to look at.”

  “No.” I blushed. “No, he is not.”

  Her painting hadn’t captured the details of Kaine’s face, simply because his hands had been covering most of it. But during our nights together, I’d memorized some of my favorite features. Now that I knew what his nose looked like from all angles and how his mouth was ever so slightly off-center from his strong chin, it made the painting even better.

  I couldn’t stop glancing at it resting on top of the bar.

  “Keep it.”

  “What?” My gaze shot to Thea. “I can’t keep this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, what if he sees it? He might think I’m a crazy stalker who painted him.”

  Thea waved me off. “Tell him I did it, then draw him one of those stick figures you were just bragging about.”

  I giggled. “Good point. He’ll know right away I couldn’t make this.”

  “I’m glad for you. I think a casual fling with a han
dsome man is just what you need.”

  Handsome was an understatement. Kaine didn’t have a classically perfect face like Logan. He didn’t have a charming, playful appeal like Jackson. Kaine was too serious. But he was better looking than either of them in my opinion, especially when he smiled.

  The door behind me opened and Jackson came back inside. His eyes didn’t shine as bright now that his wife had left. Behind him, the evening light was fading through the windows.

  “Okay, I’d better get going.” I downed the last of my beer and fished out some cash from my purse. It was only eight thirty but I wanted to stop by the grocery store before going home, and they closed in thirty minutes.

  But before I could pay, Thea waved it off. “Family discount. And I’d better go too. I want to catch Charlie before Logan tucks her in.”

  “Have a good night.” Jackson waved to us both as we walked out the door. Thea and I exchanged a quick hug before she got in her car to go home, and I climbed into mine.

  Then I drove the two blocks down the highway to the grocery store, rifling through my purse for the list I’d made earlier as I walked inside. I gave the owner stationed behind the one and only register a quick smile and kept on digging.

  “Seriously?” I grumbled. Why did my purse always eat my grocery lists?

  It was nowhere to be found, so I gave up the search and plucked a basket from the stack next to the pushcarts. With it resting on my arm, I went through the small produce aisle first, collecting a bunch of bananas and a bag of baby carrots. Then I went up and down each of the other aisles, picking things that I remembered writing down and a plethora of items that I hadn’t.

  By the time I made it to the second to last aisle, my basket was getting heavy, and I cursed myself for not getting the full-sized cart. I turned down the baking aisle to get some brown sugar but froze when I saw the man standing in front of the Betty Crocker boxed cake mixes.

  Kaine was glaring daggers at the box in his hand.

  I grinned, walking as quietly as I could in my cork wedge sandals down the freshly waxed floor. “White cake? If you’re going to go for something other than chocolate, at least get the rainbow chip.”

  His face whipped to the side, the scowl disappearing as he recognized me. Kaine was wearing a navy baseball hat, pulled low on his head so you could barely see his eyes. The light sporty jacket he wore was zipped up all the way to his neck.

  “Is there a reason why you’re standing in the baking aisle looking like a criminal in hiding?” With a quick flick, I tipped up his hat, knocking it back so I could see his eyes.

  His frown returned as he put the cake mix back on the shelf and mumbled, “I was goingtoaskyou . . .”

  “Huh?”

  He shuffled down a few steps, grabbing another box and studying it like it was made of pure gold. He wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t speak up. Was he nervous?

  Yes! He was totally nervous. It was strange and oddly sexy to see Kaine Reynolds, the man who preferred to speak in three-word sentences, jittery because I’d surprised him at the grocery store.

  “What was that you said?” I pressed.

  He shrugged those broad shoulders, huffing as he swapped out one yellow cake mix for another. “I was going to ask you to dinner.”

  That was when I noticed the contents of his own shopping basket. He had two pork chops and a tub of macaroni salad. There was also a bowl of precut watermelon and a bag of dinner rolls.

  I held back a smile, wanting to play with him a little. “I already ate.”

  “Tomorrow. I was going to ask you to dinner tomorrow,” he grumbled, swiping a can of vanilla frosting off the shelf.

  Yellow cake and vanilla frosting? Eww.

  My face soured and he took it as a no to his invitation. With an angry huff, he shoved the frosting back on the shelf. But before he could walk away, I grabbed his arm.

  “Wait. I’d love to go to dinner.” With one hand restraining his elbow, I reached for the right kind of frosting for yellow cake. Chocolate. “But only if you make that cake with this frosting.”

  His frame relaxed. “Okay.”

  The reality of what had just happened sank in, and my heart beat double time. Kaine had just asked me over for dinner. Was it a date? Did he want more than just casual?

  I took a breath, not wanting to get ahead of myself. This was casual. We were casual. This dinner invitation didn’t have to be anything other than pork chops shared between neighbors.

  “Can I bring anything?” I asked.

  “Dinner.” He chuckled. “I’m a shit cook.”

  “Just don’t mess up the cake and we’ll be fine.”

  Baking was not my strength.

  I ruined the first cake mix because of the piss-poor instructions on the damn box. It said to insert a toothpick until it came out clean. Betty Crocker and I had different opinions on what a fucking clean toothpick looked like.

  Fifteen minutes longer in the oven than the box recommended and the toothpick still came out with a small crumb. The instructions should have read crumby, not clean.

  But I got lucky because I’d baked that cake—or tried—before noon. Once I’d let it cool and tossed it in the trash, I’d gone back to the grocery store and started all over again.

  The second time around, I baked the cake according to the median time on the box, then took it out. To hell with the toothpicks.

  Why had I invited Piper over last night at the grocery store? Insanity.

  I’d gone down for my weekly visit, and like always, it had been right before closing time. That’s when it was typically the quietest. The first few times I’d gone to the store, I’d been waved at, talked to and welcomed to town. People were too friendly in Lark Cove.

  So I’d learned quickly to go in late, wear a hat to shield my face and emit a don’t talk to me attitude that made men give me the side-eye and women scoot their carts as far from mine as possible.

  There hadn’t been anyone but me and the clerk in the store last night, so I’d let go of my edge. Then Piper had surprised me in the baking aisle, and I’d blurted out my invitation without thinking it through.

  I’d planned on asking her to dinner casually. I was going to walk over to the camper and say, Hey, I made dinner. Want some?

  If I screwed up the meal, it wouldn’t have mattered. I wouldn’t have invited her over. But since I’d lost my mind at the store, now there was all this pressure.

  Now, this felt too much like a date.

  We’d been having a blast these last couple of weeks in her camper. The sex just got better and better. But the last few times I’d walked home after leaving her bed, worries had kept me company in the dark.

  Did she think I was just using her for sex? Piper was an incredible woman, and I didn’t want her to feel . . . cheap. When I left her camper every other night, I had nothing but respect for that woman.

  Was she a friend? Not really. I didn’t have friends, not anymore. I didn’t want friends. Just like I didn’t want to be in a relationship with a woman ever again. But Piper deserved a little extra effort on my part than she’d gotten so far.

  I’d hoped a nice, neighborly dinner would show her that she was more than a willing and able body to me.

  We could have sex and occasionally share a meal without becoming serious. The idea was solid, my execution a disaster. All because she’d snuck up on me at the grocery store.

  Did she think this was a date? Because it wasn’t, even though it smelled like one.

  This isn’t a date.

  I ran a hand over my beard, staring at the cake sitting on the counter. I glanced at the clock on the microwave and knew Piper would be here any minute.

  Once she arrived, I’d get the grill going for the chops. Everything else was coming premade.

  Everything except this cake.

  A knock came at the door and I took one last look at the cake, hoping I’d made it right. The frosting wasn’t anything like the frosting on Piper’s magic cake. Her
s had been even and smooth. Mine looked too thick on one side and too thin on the other. In one corner, there were cake bits crumbled in.

  And I called myself an artist.

  Piper knocked again and I left the cake to open the door.

  “Nice chairs.” She nodded to the porch chairs I’d set out this afternoon after cleaning my house again.

  I shrugged, side-stepping so she could come inside.

  But she didn’t move. “Did you make those?”

  “Yup.”

  “They’re beautiful. I love them.”

  Heat crept up my neck and my toes squirmed in my boots. “Come on in.”

  She narrowed her eyes and still didn’t move an inch. “Do you not like it when people compliment your work?”

  I grunted.

  Piper frowned. “That’s not an answer to my question.”

  “Are you going to come inside or not?”

  “Not.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Fine.” I walked into the kitchen to get out the pork chops, leaving the door open.

  She could stand out there all night if she wanted. But what we weren’t going to do was talk about my work.

  No, I didn’t like compliments about my work. They made me twitchy. Some designers relished the praise. I just wanted to make the best furniture my hands could craft. Getting paid was a bonus.

  Feedback on my work was hard to hear, even the good stuff. I didn’t know why. Maybe because each and every project was something personal.

  My furniture was my passion. My art. It came from deep within my soul and flowed through my hands into the tools. Clients may give me guidance or direction, but each piece was mine.

  My mother had once told me that my extreme humility was endearing. She’d also told me I was far too critical of my own work. She told me I invented flaws.

  She just couldn’t see them. Hardly anyone saw the mistakes but they were there.

  Like those Adirondack chairs. One of them was slightly shorter than the other by about half an inch. And on that smaller chair, the middle board of the backrest was slightly darker. It should have gone on the base, not the back.