The Taste of Her Words

by Candace Knoebel

  I just had to prove it to her.

  THE TANTALIZING SMELL OF BREAKFAST lingered through the house. Mrs. Hale might have been a lot of things, but she could cook her ass off. After brushing my teeth, I put on a pair of shorts and found a clean shirt buried within the clutter of my suitcase.

  I wondered if Andy was up as I headed downstairs. How was she going to act after last night? Would she shut me out again?

  Rounding the corner to the kitchen, I spotted Charlie on a stool in front of the stove. Mrs. Hale stood next to him, helping him pour pancake batter into a pan. His soft gaze and easy smile were the spitting image of his mom. He was the coolest ten-year-old I’d ever met, and knowing that only drew me to Andy more. She was raising him up that way—to have manners and to see life in a deeper light.

  The thought of having kids scared the hell out of me, but not when I thought about Andy being a part of it.

  “Did you find anything, dear?” Mrs. Hale asked, her back turned to us.

  Josh set the morning paper down. “No. You can’t rush greatness.”

  “Find what?” I asked, peering over his shoulder. He was scouring the comic section.

  “A job,” he replied, reaching for his mug.

  “You’re not going to find one in the comic sec—”

  He jabbed me in the stomach, mouthing at me to shut up as he nodded in Mrs. Hale’s direction.

  “But you live back in Tennessee,” I pointed out, confused, rubbing where he hit me.

  He shrugged and flipped the pages to the classifieds. “The scenery is getting old, and Mom thinks I can find better work down here.”

  The way his eyes dodged mine when he said this told me there was more to it. I’d have to talk to him when we were alone.

  “It will come,” Mrs. Hale assured over her shoulder. “Just keep looking.”

  “Andy,” Josh announced as she walked into the kitchen. “Didn’t think the sand man would allow you to be up this early.”

  My nerves twisted when I turned and looked at her.

  She faked a laugh and scowled at Josh, and then moved past me as if I wasn’t standing in the way. My muscles tightened as her scent lingered, spicy and sweet, taunting me. I swallowed, pushing away the thought about reaching for her.

  “Morning, buddy,” she said, kissing Charlie on the forehead before ruffling his hair.

  I imagined being able to see her like that every morning. Sleep still in her eyes. Hair thrown into a messy ponytail. Her oversized T-shirt hanging just above the edge of her cloth shorts.

  Everything about her screamed sex, even when she was adorable.

  I took a seat next to Josh and nodded a thanks to him when he slid me a fresh cup of coffee.

  “I’m making you pancakes, Momma,” Charlie said as he beamed a smile in Andy’s direction.

  “And they smell amazing,” she replied, dotting the tip of his nose with her finger.

  Angelic, I thought. Perfect. Sweet. Humble.

  “Coffee?” Mrs. Hale asked her.

  “Sure.” She took the offered mug, and then found her seat in between Josh and me, shoving him when he tried to start in on her again.

  “You’re going to make me spill my coffee, woman,” he said, growling at her.

  “Then leave me alone.” She reached for a plate.

  “Morning,” I said, desperate for her to look at me.

  She dropped the plate, spine going rigid

  “Break the plate, why don’t you?” Josh remarked. “I’d love nothing more than to watch Mom lose her—”

  Andy pointed her fork in his face and glared.

  His hands shot up in surrender.

  “What are you going on about?” Mrs. Hale asked a second later as she set a plate full of pancakes and bacon on the bar.

  “Nothing.” Andy shot another warning look in Josh’s direction.

  He grabbed a pancake and shoved it in his mouth, stifling his laughter.

  I looked at her as she assembled her plate, at the red splotches forming just above the collar of her T-shirt. At her hands, somewhat trembling as she tried to pour the syrup. She was just as unglued as I was.

  She peered out the corner of her eye at me from behind a curtain of mahogany hair.

  I looked away just as she did this, pretending to be just as oblivious. “Smells delicious, Charlie,” I said over Josh’s laughter. “You cook often?”

  “Sometimes. When Momma lets me.” He hopped off his stool and climbed onto a barstool.

  Mrs. Hale handed him a plate with a pancake and a few slices of bacon before sliding him the syrup.

  “Charlie loves to cook,” Andy said, smiling at him.

  I swallowed and added, “Well, I can tell, because these are the best pancakes I’ve ever had.”

  “Lay it on thick,” Josh said under his breath.

  Andy huffed and dug into her food as I looked past her, telling him it was his turn to shut up.

  “What are you boys going to do today?” Mrs. Hale asked as she watched us eat. My mother did the same thing. Watched us, but never made a plate for herself.

  “Mom, sit. Eat,” Andy said. “You make me nervous when you hover like that.”

  She sipped on her coffee. “I’m not hungry, dear, but thank you.”

  “We’re going to fish,” Josh said, shooting me a look. “Dad said they restocked the pond.”

  “They did,” Mrs. Hale confirmed as she took Josh’s plate away and washed it.

  “Can I come?” Charlie asked, eyebrows raised and his voice bright.

  Josh smiled at him. “Of course, buddy.”

  “That’s his only redeeming quality—the fact that he’s great at being an uncle,” I heard Andy murmur under her breath. She looked over at me when I chuckled, almost as if she hadn’t thought she’d said it out loud.

  “What about you?” I asked, searching her eyes for any sign of how she felt. If she felt any better than she had last night.

  She continued eating as if she hadn’t heard me.

  “Yeah, Andy…” Josh drawled out. “Want to come hang out with us?”

  She pushed her plate away. “I’m good.”

  My heart dropped.

  “Why not?” I asked before taking a bite of bacon. I shouldn’t push her, but I couldn’t help it. She’d kept herself closed off from everyone for so long… someone had to come and rattle her awake, and I’d be damned if it was going to be anyone but me.

  She turned to face me, eyebrows pressed together. “Because.”

  “Because why?” I asked again, not giving up even though her paramount annoyance made me want to chuckle. The way her lips pinched together when she was thinking was so damn cute that it was hard to be offended. She tucked her hair behind her ears as so many words passed through her eyes. “Because I… I…”

  “Because she’s a lady, and ladies don’t do those sort of things,” Mrs. Hale finished for her. “You can stay and help me plan the barbecue with the girls from church.”

  “Yeah. Sounds like much more fun, Andy,” Josh said with a snort as he stood. “Charlie, why don’t you go change into something you can get messy and meet me on the porch in ten. Okay?”

  Charlie looked to Andy, who nodded an approval before he and Josh headed out of the kitchen.

  I carried my plate to the sink and rinsed it before Mrs. Hale had the chance to steal it from me, trying to think about how I could convince Andy to go. When I turned, my eyes found hers. They stayed for a moment. “It’s a shame. Think you’d have some fun,” I said before walking out of the kitchen, leaving the bait on the edge of the hook.

  I didn’t make it far before I felt her hand on my arm.

  “Dean, wait,” she said, eyes pulsing with a need for excitement.

  I grinned the size of a crescent moon as my eyes swept over her face, watching her scramble for the right words.

  I leaned close. “See you in ten, Andy.”

  9

  F L I R T A T I O N

  Can you see through
the cracks I’ve exposed,

  Into the light I wish for you to taste?

  THE SKY WAS REMARKABLY BLUE as I sat on the bank of the pond. It was the kind of blue that reminded me of sapphires, not a single cloud blemishing it.

  It had been so long since I sat and did absolutely nothing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt at peace. Josh and Dean joked with Charlie while they tossed out lines. I had an ice-cold water next to me and a good book in my hands.

  Maybe the trip home hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

  I turned the page and tried to focus on the words. The sun was warm on my pale skin, growing hotter by the minute as Charlie’s giggles swam in the slight breeze. I applied double layers of sunscreen to him before we left, but only a thin layer on myself.

  If I was going to lay out, then I might as well try to get a little color back to my skin.

  My eyes skimmed over the same paragraph until I gave up and let my mind drift. I could have stayed back home and helped Mom. I probably should have, just to smooth things over from the other day, but the thought of sitting through a peck-fest was about as appealing as touching the bait the guys were using.

  I wondered if my dad and his team had gotten everything they needed from my lawyer yet. He was in his office when we left earlier, door closed, which meant he was on a conference call. On a weekend like this, he’d have only taken a call if it was something direly important.

  I smiled as I tried to imagine the look on Matt’s face when he figured out what was happening. This was a curveball he wouldn’t see coming. He knew I never wanted to go to my parents for help. Ten years I’d survived without asking.

  He wouldn’t guess I’d smartened up.

  I rolled onto my back. Beads of sweat formed along my forehead. I rested my head against the extra towel I brought as a makeshift pillow and attempted not to think about Dean. Every time he popped into my head, I tried to focus my thoughts on something else. Like the splashing from the pond, the chirps from the birds, or the way the sun felt like it was pressing itself against my skin, but it was no use.

  I couldn’t erase the way he looked at me the night before. Or how he was this morning in the kitchen. He was so different from who I remembered, not as readable as he used to be. But, somehow, he was also the same. His eyes still held that reclusive look, but he didn’t look to me like he was looking up to me anymore. Only that he was looking at me… for the woman I’d become.

  He was an unfamiliar version of Dean I’d yet to meet.

  I glanced through my sunglasses, watching as Dean demonstrated how to gather up a net for Charlie, the braids of his water-soaked muscles shimmering under the light. Charlie stood a little further out with Josh, watching Dean’s every move before Dean handed it to him and told him to try.

  I looked back to my book, trying not to tear up. My heart melted every time Charlie smiled, emotions bubbling up, forming a rock in my throat. I loved seeing him young and happy, loved watching him experience his youth the way I did. It gave me hope that maybe things weren’t as bad as I thought they were. Maybe he and I… maybe we were okay. Maybe I was doing something right because—

  “It’s a nice day.”

  I lay the book across my stomach and tilted my sunglasses down, squinting up at Dean.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  “Not at all,” I said, watching as he planted himself next to me. He was in a pair of black swim trunks. No T-shirt. Sweat and droplets of water rolled over the crevices of his flat, hard stomach.

  I swallowed thick and pushed my sunglasses back up.

  “Charlie seems to be having a good time. That boy has a strong arm on him and a knack for spotting fish.”

  “He gets it honest,” I said, thinking about the years I spent watching Dad and Josh on the lake. I looked over at him, a pang of regret hitting my stomach. “Listen. About last night… can we start over? I know I acted like a jerk. I just… it had been such a crappy day, and I hit my quota for dealing with bullshit.” I paused, searching his eyes. “And I just want to say I’m sorry for how I treated you.”

  “Andy,” he said, my name a soft whisper. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. We’re cool. Always.”

  I smiled, my heart thudding in a friendly lull. He was always so understanding.

  “Is it any good?” he asked, glancing down at me.

  “What?”

  He pointed to the book.

  “Oh, this?” I picked it up so I could close it and set it next to me. “Yeah, if you’re into contemporary poetry.”

  He held his hand out, asking to see it. “I’ve heard of this author,” he said, skimming through the pages. “I love any form of poetry. I believe understanding it is the foundation of any good piece of work… the ability to see the world outside the norm only helps sink the reader into a moment.”

  I looked over at him, eyebrows dipped. I’d never pegged him as big on poetry. I remembered he read a lot of mysteries and classic pieces, but when he’d moved on to Victorian poetry in school, I remembered how much he hated it. It was one of my favorite subjects.

  Then again, he wasn’t seventeen anymore. It made me curious to know more.

  “What type of stuff do you edit?” I asked.

  “Honestly, whatever they give me.” He picked up a towel and wiped his forehead, skin touched by the sun and a sheen of sweat coating his muscles that were in full definition. He was abs and biceps and strength flexing in a way I knew I shouldn’t notice. My mouth shouldn’t water. My body shouldn’t tense up, yearning to feel some of that strength dominate me.

  “Any, uh… anything good?” I peeled my gaze off him and forced it back to the lake.

  “A couple of pieces, yeah, but I won’t get the better ones until I have a little more experience under my belt.”

  Under his belt, I thought, ears burning. “That makes sense.”

  “It’s amazing though… some of the work I’ve seen. I don’t know how they do it. How you do it.” His eyes bored into me. “The way you can create emotion out of words… I can’t get enough.”

  “That’s what every writer wants to hear,” I admitted. “That their words have the ability to move people, I mean.” I tried to look at him from the side of my eyes and caught him looking at my chest.

  My stomach tightened… in a good way.

  “And that’s what every editor loves to edit.” He looked out to where Charlie and Josh were.

  I sat up, feeling every inch of my body like I hadn’t in a long time. I hoped I got every spot when I shaved this morning. Prayed my stomach didn’t form too many unattractive rolls. I felt like a teenager again as I went through a mental checklist of all the ways I should have prepared for being out in a bathing suit. Things I never used to worry about when I was around him.

  “You didn’t answer me last night. About if you still write or not.” He propped his leg up to rest his elbow.

  I wrapped the towel I sat on around my waist, feeling a little calmer the moment I did. “I do,” I said, thinking about the notebooks I’d brought in my suitcase filled with notes and thoughts and words.

  He picked at a piece of grass. “What about?”

  His question was subtle, but there was an unmistakable note of desire.

  My insides lit on fire at the thought of what I wrote last night. Thinking about him and how close he was to touching me the night before.

  You are an ocean,

  Pull me under your wake,

  Let me breathe you in,

  Until I can’t tell where you begin and I end.

  Dean chuckled, the words fizzling out.

  “What?”

  “You,” he said, as if that were plenty of explanation.

  “Me?”

  He turned so he was more open to me. “You still do this thing.”

  “What thing?” I asked, feeling my face for some phantom deformity.

  “With your lips when you’re thinking.” He pointed to my mouth, gaze lingering on them. “You lik
e… twist and chew at your bottom lip, and then your face gets all red, and it only ever happens when you’re heading into your thoughts. It always makes me wonder just what you’re thinking about.”

  “Nothing,” I lied. “I mean, just thoughts,” I quickly recovered. “Just stupid stuff. Like when my next bill is due, or when Charlie has to go back to school, or when my next shift is. Things like that.”

  “And those things make you blush?” He leaned a little closer, not buying into it. His eyes moved over my face as if he had done this a thousand times before. Private and intimate.

  I scooted back a little. “My skin is fair. I blush no matter what.” I could smell his scent, sweat and sunscreen, and it made my stomach, my heart, and my skin feel like they were on fire.

  He smirked. “Right.”

  “I write about feelings,” I said, trying to switch back to writing. Words were safe, a common ground we shared.

  “What about that story you were working on?”

  I took it back. Words used to be a safe.

  He was talking about a manuscript I’d started five years ago. The one we worked on together when I was last here. We spent days holed up in the town library and bookstore doing research and talking before he left for college.

  Which only led to…

  “It’s still sitting on my hard drive,” I admitted, looking to my red-painted toenails. “I sort of… I sort of lost steam after, you know…”

  His gaze clouded over. He knew. After the kiss. After the confusion.

  I hated that an awkwardness wedged between us.

  “But I’ve been trying to compile poems lately. I kind of veered toward it. I only have time for short bursts of writing, so it helps. In those small moments, it’s like the world melts away and all that’s left is the beauty of emotions… even the tough ones.”

  He turned to me again, opening up to me as if he had no other place to be than beside me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had been interested in listening to what I had to say. It made me want to keep talking.