Lilies on Main (The Granite Harbor Series Book 4)

by J. Lynn Bailey

  Today is going to be a good day, I tell myself. Today, you won’t let your own thoughts tear you apart, Lydia.

  It’s Friday, and Alex is in the store, ready to take over for me for the rest of today and Saturday. We’re closed on Sundays.

  “I really appreciate you doing this for me, Alex.”

  She rests her hip on the counter and crosses her arms. “It’s no problem, Lydia, really. It gives Brand and Meredith time with the girls, and it gives me a break. A change of pace.” She watches me straighten the counter. “So”—she tiptoes around the subject, as if fragile glass separates us—“are you and Aaron making it official yet?”

  I laugh. “What do you mean?” I know what she means. Everyone in town has been giving us the thumbs-up all week.

  “Come on, Lyd. We see you both together, oogly eyes.” She laughs. “Are you officially boyfriend and girlfriend?”

  A smile I can’t seem to quit spreads across my face, and I can’t help it. It’s been a great week for Aaron and me. Not that we’ve had bad weeks together. But it’s been nice to spend some alone time together. Not that I don’t miss my daughter because I do. And things just aren’t quite right with my life when she’s not in it. What makes it doable is knowing that she’s having fun with my mom and dad. A blast really.

  “Well, we haven’t yet talked about it really.”

  Alex covers her mouth and smiles beneath her fingertips. “You realize you’re blushing, right?”

  I put my head in my hands. Smile. Really, what I’m thinking about is where Aaron took me with his mouth. His tongue, his body. Without us making love this week. Returning the favor, I took him in my mouth several times and watched him as he orgasmed, thinking I had the power to watch this man unravel beneath my touch.

  Get your head out of the gutter, Lydia. Christ. These thoughts need to stop.

  “He’s really good to me,” is all I can say.

  Alex laughs. “Girl, have fun this weekend.” She reaches in for a hug. “Now, go away. I have work to do.” She pushes me along.

  The bell rings, and it’s Aaron. In uniform. And I can’t say this uniform doesn’t make me hot every time I see him in it. And the thought of him rescuing animals, people, just makes taking it off him more enjoyable.

  “Hey.” He walks over to me and kisses me on the neck. “Alex.” He gives her a nod.

  “You two have fun.” She shoos us with her hands.

  “You have the ke—” I start.

  “I have all the instructions, Lydia. Let go. I’ve got this.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Aaron looks back to Alex. “Thank you!” He pushes the small of my back, dipping lower than he should. “This skirt looks amazing on you,” he whispers in my ear as we walk outside into the warm summer sun.

  This week, after I showed Aaron the marks the cancer left behind, he’s made me feel sexy and alive when I wear things that show my skin.

  “Do you have panties on?”

  I playfully slap his arm before he opens my door. “No. You told me I wouldn’t be needing them this weekend, so I didn’t pack any.”

  He stares down at me, grins, shakes his head, and then puts his mouth on mine. Every bone in my body wants to give. My knees want to buckle; my arms want to fall to their sides. My entire body gives in to him. My mouth has been well kissed this week with slow and hard kisses that I could get lost in for the rest of my life.

  Aaron’s hand discreetly slides to my backside. His eyes close. “Get your ass in the truck, Lydia.” He smiles.

  I do.

  Twenty-Two

  Aaron

  The suite is a corner room that overlooks the Atlantic on the ground floor. While I’ve never stayed at the Harbor Inn, I’ve been to several occasions here. Eli and Alex’s wedding. Mom and Dad’s thirtieth wedding anniversary party. A bar mitzvah. No, make that two.

  “This is beautiful,” Lydia says as she looks out the wall of windows in our room.

  The king-size bed is in the middle of the suite with a small kitchenette off to the side. The Harbor Inn was built in the mid-1900s, and it’s renovated every twenty years, it seems. So, while the structure is completely sound because of how things were built back then, the style is unique and constantly changing. The decor, this time, is oceanic.

  “Look at that lighthouse off to the left. I’ve never noticed that from the harbor,” Lydia says.

  Sand covers our back porch and leads to the big, shiny, dark, wet boulders that lead to the ocean.

  We’ve toyed on third base all week. I just haven’t been able to bring myself to make our first time feel rushed or take a chance that we’d be interrupted. I want to show her what love feels like. I want to show her my representation of what love feels like.

  Lydia turns to me as I walk to her and slip my arms around her waist. The fabric of her top against her skirt is soft and thin.

  “This whole thing is beautiful.”

  I bend down to kiss her lips—not because I want to be inside her, but because I want to know what her lips feel like at ten thirty in the morning. I want to know what her mouth feels like when it’s wet and hot.

  Lydia puts her lips to mine, and I softly moan. It surprises me, too.

  Her hands go to my back, but she pulls away, and I’m lost. “You need to go change out of this uniform, Warden Casey. Put something more comfortable on.”

  I take a few steps backward to my overnight bag, which is on the bed. “I’ve dreamed of keeping you here in our room until Sunday, but I suppose you’ll need food at some point.” I smile as I slide my work pants off.

  She watches, folding her arms together against her stomach. “I’ll need food, yes. And so will you.”

  I slide my work shirt off and then my undershirt, so I’m almost naked in front of her.

  Lydia doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t move. But I notice her cheeks turning pink.

  “I’ll get you all the food you need,” I say to her as I grab a pair of jeans and slide them on.

  Lydia lets out a mouthful of air.

  I look up. “Are you all right?”

  She’s turned away now, staring at the ocean again. “I will be when you get some clothes on.”

  Smiling, I grab a T-shirt and walk to her, and before I put it on, I put her backside to my chest and slip my hands around her waist.

  A sigh escapes her mouth, and her head falls to my chest. “You know, you should come with a warning label.”

  “How so?” I smirk.

  “Because, on the outside, you don’t look like you have bumps and ripples on your body, but then you take off your damn shirt, and it’s like, Surprise!” Lydia turns to me, facing me. “Why are you waiting?”

  “Waiting for what?” I whisper as I bend down to kiss her because I can’t not.

  “To make love to me.”

  “I promise, this wait will be worth it.” I trail kisses down her neck.

  “Well, then, Warden, you’d best put something on those muscles. Like a shirt.”

  We walk down to the lighthouse. We slowly make our way up the small, windy staircase to the top of the lighthouse. I’m behind her, just in case she gets dizzy. But the view is all worth it. It’s a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree picture of the ocean and Granite Harbor, a view I’ve seen many times before with my job, but watching Lydia’s reaction is like seeing it for the first time, in vibrant colors.

  “This … this is like the feeling I got when we first pulled into Granite Harbor. Nervous, my stomach in knots, but also excited for what the future held, you know? And, also, it feels like when they first bring out the tacos at Gallagher’s in New Hampshire on Taco Tuesday.”

  I bend a little and point just off the coast. My head next to hers. “Did you see that?”

  “No. Where?”

  “Hang on. Wait for it.”

  Another blowhole explodes with air. Then, another one. And another one.

  Lydia gasps. “Oh my goodness.”

  Another whale comes up out
of the water and shows its fin.

  “Wow.” She shakes her head. Laughs. “Lilly would love this.”

  Lydia has forgotten that she’s almost forty-five feet off the ground as she presses her fingertips to the glass. Another whale comes up out of the water and lands with a massive splash.

  “Their migrating season is April to October. But the best time to see them is probably mid-June to mid-August. They come here for food and leave mid-October for warmer seas.”

  For the first time, I see pieces of Lilly in Lydia. As if her guard is down, and she isn’t the protector, but a spectator, just along for the ride.

  “I’ve never seen this before, Aaron, and it’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever witnessed,” she says against the glass.

  The pod makes their way past us—not close by any means, but close enough for us to witness the grandeur.

  Afterward, we climb the cliff.

  Sit in a large tree swing.

  Hike to the ocean.

  Feed the birds.

  Put our toes in the ocean.

  Laugh.

  Kiss.

  Then, we head back to the Harbor Inn.

  We eat a late lunch at the Harbor Inn in the great dining hall that overlooks the Atlantic. I watch Lydia as she watches people, the view, soaking up our surroundings like a child.

  “What?” she asks as I watch her taking another piece of salami from the antipasto tray we ordered.

  My fingers are at my temple while my elbow rests on the chair. “I love to watch your curiosity. How you take the world in. Did you ever think you’d be here, in Granite Harbor, Maine, of all places?”

  “No.” She laughs, taking a cracker.

  My phone rings, and I slide it from my pocket. Look at the screen. Hit Ignore.

  “Who was that?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. Unknown number.” I shove my phone back in my pocket.

  “I wanted to be a mother.” She bites her lip. Stares across the table at me. Watching me, she continues, “I’ve always been intrigued with people. Their stories. Books. I wanted to end up being in business for myself because, if I ever became a mother, I wanted to make my own schedule. And being a stay-at-home mom scared me.”

  “Did you picture your life alone with a child?”

  Lydia shakes her head. “No. Also, I didn’t expect to be someone who let a man dictate how I thought of myself.” She looks down at her plate. But looks back at me. “I didn’t expect to be the battered wife.”

  I push her because I know she can handle it—not because I need to know about her past, but because she needs to talk about it. An intimate conversation that revolves around a vulnerable and personal subject.

  “What made you see that you didn’t want that for yourself and Lilly?”

  Lydia smiles. “Lilly. I realized that, if I wanted my daughter to be a strong, confident woman, I had to be that strong, confident woman. If I wanted the best for her, how could I subject myself to Brett and allow her to watch?”

  “Did she ever see Brett hurt you?” The words that roll off my tongue make my fists clench. My jaw goes tight.

  She slides the sweat across the cold glass with her finger. “Once. I didn’t know about it. She told me just recently.” Shame meets her eyes.

  “But the most important part is, she saw you leave. Sees you now as an independent woman.” I take a drink of water to cool me down. The anger gnaws on my insides. “The strongest women aren’t strong because of what they’ve achieved. The strongest women are strong because of what they’ve had to go through to get to where they are.”

  I see the most recent scar from the skin cancer poking out of the sleeve of her top. The scar from her last removal is obvious on such a beautiful level. To me, it’s especially pretty. I reach across the table, pull her wrist to me, and kiss her latest scar.

  She shakes her head, smiles, puts her other hand over her mouth. “You are crazy, Aaron.”

  “That reminds me.” I pull back. “Do you want to be my girlfriend? Go steady?”

  Lydia drops her head back and laughs. And it’s the most courageous sound I’ve ever heard.

  She laughs in spite of what she’s been through.

  She laughs in spite of where she came from.

  She laughs in spite of herself.

  Pulling her head back down to look at me, she says, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Fantastic. Because, if you’d said no, I didn’t have a backup plan.”

  This time, Lydia reaches across the table and gets ahold of my hand.

  Twenty-Three

  Lydia

  It’s just after seven in the evening when Aaron and I are on the back porch of our room, lying in the lounge chair together. Our hands intertwined. My head to his chest.

  “My name isn’t Lydia White. I mean, my real name isn’t Lydia White,” I whisper against his chest to see what my words feel like when they bounce back.

  Aaron doesn’t budge. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for me to continue.

  “It’s Delana Harper. I changed my name when Brett went to prison. I changed Lilly’s name, too.”

  “Delana is a beautiful name. It’s sexy. Little dark.” He doesn’t ask what I think he’s going to ask, such as, Are you all right? What do you need? I don’t see the fear for me that my mother and father have in their eyes every time we talk about Brett. Maybe that’s because Aaron knows I’ve got this. Maybe he has complete faith in my ability to protect myself and do what’s right for my daughter. Not that my parents don’t, but I’m also their little girl, and I’ll always be their child, no matter how old I get.

  I do, however, feel his body grow rigid at the mention of Brett’s name.

  I playfully hit his arm, and his laugh stays low.

  He pulls me tighter to him. “What was Lilly’s name before?”

  Trust him. Trust Aaron. He’s safe.

  “Tabitha Lancaster.”

  “And she didn’t have a problem with you changing it?”

  “She was only one year old at the time, so I slowly introduced the name. Now, she doesn’t remember Tabitha.”

  “Why the name Lilly?” he asks, gently detangling my strands of blonde hair.

  I smile. “I remember the lily fields I ran through eleven months after my heart transplant. I was a month shy of seven years old. How I remember this, I have no idea. But I remember my mom couldn’t stop drinking, and I couldn’t understand why. My dad took care of me while her drinking got real bad. I remember I’d sit under the kitchen table, cover my ears with my hands, and quietly sing ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ to myself as my parents fought.” I pause to take in what this memory does to my body.

  My stomach grows uneasy.

  My arms begin to ache.

  My throat feels raw.

  It’s just a memory, Lydia, I tell myself.

  I continue, “But, on this particular warm summer day, I ran through the lily fields as my father spoke with the owner of the farm. Why we were there, I don’t remember, but I remember the scent—light, delicate, citrus—wafting through my nose. And, in a weird way, I felt free. Free of my own pain, free of my mother’s pain, free of everything. I ran through the field, lilies dancing past me like a kaleidoscope of color. It was then that the lily became my favorite flower, I guess, because of the feelings I associate with that moment.”

  I pause, now toying with his hands, and suddenly, I’m aware of how close our bodies are. My leg over his. The front of my body to his side. My breasts firmly tucked into him, as if they were meant for him the whole time and all God was doing was waiting for us to find each other.

  “If I ever had a daughter, I wanted to name her Lilly. Two Ls instead of one. Two Ls because one just didn’t seem to justify the beauty of a child. But Brett didn’t like the name Lilly. He wanted Tabitha. So, that’s what we went with.”

  The sun has left its wake with traces of light in the sky, and we wait for the jeweled night sky to appear, as if it were the go-ahead sig
n that it’d be all right for our bodies, our skin to touch.

  “I can’t think of a more perfect name than Lilly.”

  We’re quiet and hear the spring peepers make their debut. For a moment, we just exist together, as if the universe quietly laid out our destiny and God told the world to be patient, that we’d find each other eventually.

  He asks, “Are you hungry?”

  “Yeah.” I touch the spot between his torso and his heart.

  Aaron won’t have the same scar I do. He won’t have the same morning routine as I do—taking two pills from the containers that sit on the countertop, waiting for my fingers to hold them. To put them in my mouth. The same two pills that have been with me since I was six.

  “Come on. Let’s get you fed. We have a long night ahead of us.” He moves his arms around my body and lifts me up off the chair to a standing position.

  I blush when his hand brushes against my breast on accident.

  Our eyes meet.

  He doesn’t apologize for the hand.

  I don’t want him to.

  “Where are we going for dinner?” I ask.

  “The dining room.”

  “Can I change?”

  “You can.” He nods.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I hear the breath escape through his teeth as I take my bag and go into our shared bathroom.

  Before I shut the door, he says, “Lydia, please don’t change into anything sexier because, if you do, you won’t get fed.”

  I turn back and look at him. “Yes, I will.” I smile. Because, although he finds me sexy and as much as I’d rather give both of us what we need, he won’t allow it. He’s that type of guy. Takes care of others before himself.

  “Go change,” he says.

  I quietly shut the door behind me, rummage through my bag, and find the wrinkle-free, simple black dress that I haven’t worn in years. It was stuffed in the back of my closet. Separated and pushed to the back via the “before” skin cancer days. I threw it in the bag because Alex had told me to. I’m glad I did.

  Removing my breathable, long-sleeved top, I shimmy out of my skirt and let it fall to the floor. I decided on the color red for my bra, as panties weren’t an option, per Aaron.