by Zoe York
“Well she’s my wife!” he yelled.
Both Deans stopped and shook their heads. “Not anymore.”
Bah. What did they know, anyway? Rafe pushed away at the air around him and spun in a circle. In front of him loomed Dean’s house. And forty feet behind that was his woman. He staggered toward the side path to the backyard. Behind him the Foster brothers fought about who should follow him but he didn’t care. He’d grabbed a ride as far as he needed tonight and he was done with them.
“Liv!” he hollered as he jogged into the backyard, triggering the motion sensor floodlight. “Livvie! My Olivia fair!”
Behind him, Jake snorted. “I need to record this for blackmail purposes.”
Rafe turned. “That’s a great idea, let’s make a video.”
Dean stepped between them. He was drunk too, so why wasn’t he staggering around? “Time for bed.”
Sure thing. He notched his thumb toward his house. Where his wife was sleeping. “I’ve got one over there. She didn’t come to me, so I’m going to her.”
“If she didn’t come out tonight, man, that means she doesn’t want you banging on her back door in the middle of the night.” Dean reached for him and Rafe danced out of the way. Except he wasn’t nearly as nimble as he wanted to be, and he tripped over his feet and tumbled sideways, hitting the ground hard.
“There’s a time and a place for crazy declarations of love, man, and this isn’t it.” Jake gestured to the house. “Want to crash on Dean’s couch? Think this over and maybe do it in the morning if it seems like a good idea once you piss out all that beer?”
“What do you know about love? She’s my fucking soul mate.”
Jake gave him a long, level look. “I know what it’s like to want something you can’t have.”
“I can have her.” He ground his teeth together.
“You’re divorced for a reason, Rafe. You guys fought constantly for months. Don’t you remember?”
He really didn’t. Sure, there had been a few fights, but all he could remember was the soft, warm heat of Olivia sleeping next to him and how much he fucking missed that. He turned away from his friends and looked toward Liv’s house again. He’d hopped the fence plenty of times when sober. And in the daylight. He took a running start and grabbed the top of the fence, heaving himself into the air. One leg got up and over the top rail, but his momentum was short of what he needed, and he just hung there like an overfed baboon before dropping to the ground, still on Dean’s property.
“Come on man, let me take you home.” Jake tapped him on the shoulder.
Maybe the beer was starting to wear off, or maybe he wasn’t as committed to acts of insanity as he should be for a man in love, but Rafe was done. “Sure.” He nodded a vague goodbye at Dean and trudged back to the truck.
Jake started laughing at him as he pulled away from the curb. “Fucking idiot. It’s only five degrees out tonight, you’re drunk as a skunk, there’s no moon, and you’re trying to hop a fence like a teenager.”
“Fuck you.” Rafe grinned. Whatever. He had five more months of acting like a fool—he didn’t need to spend it all in one night. “Speaking of acting like a teenager. I’m not so drunk I didn’t notice what you said earlier. Who are you pining for, anyway?”
Jake snorted. “Oh, the time for sharing has passed, trust me.”
— —
It turned out her willpower wasn’t completely shot after all. She’d curled up on the window seat in her bedroom and watched Rafe stumble drunkenly around Dean’s yard. Other than the first few shouts of her name, which had woken her up, she hadn’t heard anything he said. That didn’t stop her from watching him, though, her private perch allowing her to hungrily soak up the sight of him. Even drunk and disorderly Rafe was yummy.
She knew he’d be upset that she didn’t show up. She’d thought he might even come over and insist on dragging her out—or coming in. She’d been half-disappointed that he hadn’t, and when she’d gone to bed it had been to a bittersweet memory of the first stag and doe he’d ever taken her to. Of sitting on hard plastic chairs, drinking toonie drinks and dancing all night. Rafe got handsy when he drank, and she missed that possessive slide of his body against hers, his big hands stroking up her back and across her hips.
It would have been so easy to go downstairs and turn on the back light. Let him come in and sober up, maybe let him do some of that touching and brush it off the next day as a drunken mistake.
But they’d both know the truth. So she just watched instead, biting her lip, until long after Jake dragged him away and Dean’s yard went dark.
When she fell asleep, it wasn’t to a memory. Instead she dreamed of a late night visit, of muttered promises of renewed effort and quiet, desperate lovemaking. She woke up five hours later with her sheets tangled around her legs and she cupped her swollen sex. Lifted her hips in tiny, hard jerks. Touching herself and thinking of Rafe…the very opposite of emotional progress. As she spread her legs and dipped her fingers into her shockingly wet core, she promised herself that she’d find new fantasy material tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.
It didn’t take long. As always, she didn’t get much further than Rafe’s face between her legs before going off like a rocket. It had been far too long. Dani had urged her to go away for a weekend and have some vacation sex, but Liv couldn’t even fathom getting naked with someone else. And dating in Pine Harbour was out—all the single men were Minellis or Fosters.
Besides, the only man she wanted was Rafe. As long as he was around as a living, breathing example of exactly what did it for her, no man would measure up.
So she’d go another six months without sex. Once she moved away, it would be easier to start again. Date and kiss and—
She shuddered. Unless it was Joe Manganiello, who topped her “top 5 celebrities to sleep with” list, she just wasn’t interested. But maybe Joe would be cast in this movie. She snickered to herself at the possibility of actually seeing famous people in Pine Harbour.
Greg had sent her on three reconnaissance missions in the last week, and her first paycheque had been deposited into her account. It was nice to see the extra zeroes on the balance line, but that didn’t make the project any more real.
And from the little she gleaned from the information she had, she doubted there were many sexy male lead roles.
She stepped into the shower and closed her eyes, letting the steam wake her up the rest of the way. Rafe looked a bit like Joe with shorter hair. Maybe she should transition her fantasies to a celebrity. But as soon as she pictured Joe kissing along her collarbone, Rafe showed up behind her. He cupped her breasts and lifted them for Joe to nuzzle his face between.
That wasn’t like Rafe at all. He wasn’t into sharing. She shampooed and tried to start again, but this time the fantasy was just two Rafes, front and back, and she gave up.
Masturbation would need to be off the table for a while, too. It was the only answer.
She briskly finished her shower and headed for the diner. Sunday was a short day, as they closed at one in the afternoon. Maybe she’d go for a hike after work, do something physical to burn off the energy. But the good intentions disappeared as she arrived at the diner to find Rafe sitting on the steps.
“Frank didn’t let you in?” she asked in disbelief.
He stood and offered a rueful smile. “I didn’t ask. I thought I’d wait for you here.”
“It’s cold out!” She pulled the door open, holding it for him to follow her in. She shrugged out of her fleece zippy and wrapped on her mini apron. She put coffee on then dashed back to the office to grab the money tray for the till. She counted out a float for her apron, writing the amount on an IOU note for the drawer, steadfastly ignoring her ex sitting at the counter. When the coffee machine beeped, she finally gave him a bit of attention—in the form of a cup of joe. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
“You look rough.”
“Last night didn’t go exactly as I expected.”
“Really? People didn’t bend to your magnetic will?”
He gave her an inscrutable look. “I only want one person to bend on my command, Liv.”
She blushed. Damn him. “Are you up for food? Or are you too hungover?”
“How do you know I was drinking? Rumour mill find you this early?”
She bit her lip. In the kitchen, Frank wasn’t listening, but he wasn’t not listening either. “I heard you last night. At Dean’s. Just the first bit when you were hollering my name.”
He groaned. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Not quite Romeo and Juliet, eh?” She stumbled over the words as she realized what she was saying. “Not that I would want you to be Romeo. And I’m no Juliet.”
He smiled, and it was soft and deep, reaching all the way to his eyes, but it wasn’t happy. “I know, baby. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
She ignored the nickname. “Do you want eggs?”
He shook his head. “Just toast. Four slices, please. With peanut butter.”
“This is a meal you could make at home.” She cast him a baleful glance and he just stared back at her, naked emotion written all over his face. He was done pretending he couldn’t cook for himself. “Well, it’s a stupid and expensive way to try and win me back.”
“Or it’s the only way I get to spend time with you, and since we’re not married anymore, you don’t get to tell me what to do with my money. So shut up.”
“You’re rude, you know that?”
“You’re pretty.”
It was her turn to tell him to shut up, then it got too busy to keep teasing each other. But she felt his eyes on her as she hustled coffee and plates and bills. It was different now, and a nervous disquiet rippled through her. Somehow a humble Rafe was so much more dangerous than his normal cocky self.
— —
He was too damn tired to keep up the game today, but that hadn’t stopped him from rolling out of bed and heading to the diner anyway. It was like he needed to be there any day he wasn’t working. Why couldn’t she understand that? His attachment to her wasn’t optional. Maybe it would be easier if he actually could disassociate. But love didn’t work like that.
Not for the first time, he considered the possibility that she really had fallen out of love with him. This time the thought had a new stickiness to it and he didn’t like that one bit.
Had he mistaken her residual fondness for something deeper? Conflated his own feelings with what he wanted to see in her eyes?
She filled up his mug on a quick pass-by with the steaming carafe and he avoided her gaze. Swallowing his toast was proving an impossible task. He swilled some of the piping hot black liquid then dug in his pocket for the bottle of Tylenol he’d brought along just in case. Enough embarrassing himself.
He wasn’t giving up, but it was time for a serious retreat, review and regroup.
— NINE —
SHE was running late for her first team meeting. Crappity crap.
She’d been a part of Dancelight Productions for five weeks and so much had happened, but she hadn’t been able to video-conference in to their weekly Thursday meeting yet because of her schedule at Mac’s. This week, she’d switched her half-day with Deena to be able to call in. Even though she was just observing via Skype, and it really didn’t matter—she’d warned Greg that she would be cutting it close, getting back to her place after the lunch rush—she still wanted to make a good impression with her co-workers, such as they were.
In the last month, Greg had filled the online folder with more information about the film project. A new sub-folder had appeared that morning, Accommodations, that she had a feeling would be discussed today. It was a question she’d been meaning to ask her boss for a while, given that there weren’t any hotels within an hour’s drive and the motels and B&Bs between Pine Harbour and Wiarton weren’t exactly used to Hollywood types.
She sprinted up her steps, dried leaves crunching underfoot, and wrenched her screen door open. A small white envelope fluttered to the ground, having lost its purchase between the outer and inner doors. She pinched it up off the ground and flipped it over. Rafe’s familiar scrawl spelled out her name and a warm ache tightened her chest. She didn’t have time to read it, and maybe that was a good thing. It was the third note he’d left in the last few weeks and each one had undone her in the most bittersweet way.
Inside, her computer was already powered on, the program loaded, so she clicked on the profile for Ashley@Dancelight and waited for the call to connect. Enough time to trace her fingers over his handwriting and wonder what was inside. She placed it just behind a blank pad of paper she’d laid out that morning in anticipation of this meeting. And now she was totally distracted by the thought of her ex-husband squirrelling secret notes for her to find.
She hadn’t seen him in almost four weeks, not since the morning after his drunken episode. He’d backed off completely at first, but then these notes started appearing. Like he’d come by exactly when he knew she wouldn’t be around. The thought made her breathless, which she both loved and hated. This new tactic of his was totally working, which made her a sucker.
The screen changed in front of her, revealing a small meeting room. She recognized Greg, and when the young woman closest to the camera spoke, she connected the voice as Ashley, the PA she’d talked to a couple of times. Greg started the introductions as she waved. When it came time for him to introduce Olivia, she was genuinely surprised at some of the words he used.
“You guys all know how helpful she’s been, dashing out to get us more information as we fill in the filming schedule and figure out what contracts we need to have on offer when I head up there next week. I’m quite thankful Trey and I stumbled across her at that diner, and hopefully we can convince her to do even more for us, because I think Olivia’s quite the rare gem. So welcome to the team, Liv.”
She blinked at the nickname. Only Rafe called her that. She thought about correcting him but then a hipster in thick black glasses leaned in and the moment was gone. “You’ll probably regret joining the call by the end of the meeting, but nice to put a face to the voice.” She realized this man—John, Greg had called him—was the Johnny who’d called her the week previous with questions about Wilson Island.
And then they returned to the agenda she’d interrupted with her call. She had a copy of that printed out, Ashley had emailed it the day before, and she scanned the page. It took a minute to orient herself to the conversation but once she did, she had no problem following along. She found the entire process fascinating and more than once she had something small but substantive to offer.
Once they’d concluded all their planned discussion, Greg brought up the question of accommodations. “So we’d planned to use mobile homes for everyone, but it looks like we’re going to run into service overloads if we go that route. And if Hope Creswell and Joshua Pearce don’t have electricity when they wake up one morning, there will be hell to pay.”
Olivia blinked hard. Joshua Pearce? Holy crap. This wasn’t just any movie if one of Hollywood’s most mercurial A-list bad boys was one of the stars. And Hope Creswell…achingly beautiful and super aloof, according to People magazine. She lifted her hand tentatively, unsure how to break into the conversation that John and Ashley were having about seasonal temperatures. “Uhm…”
Five curious faces turned toward her and heat crawled up her neck and around the side of her face. “How many rooms do we need? And how much privacy?” Do they come with entourages that also need to be put up in prime space? She grabbed the pad of paper and started jotting down questions and answers as they fired more information at her.
“Olivia, what are you thinking?”
She nibbled on the tip of her pen for a moment, then pointed it at her web cam. “I think I might know of a set of cottage rentals that would work for the primary players.” She glanced down at the short list of names she’d made down the left margin of her pad. “Will Trey be commuting or bringing
his family up here?”
“I think that’s up in the air, but you might want to plan on him needing a house for himself—but his wife might have already looked at some options online.”
Olivia frowned. “Do we know if anyone else will have family with them? Is that a list someone could put together for me?”
“On it!” Ashley moved to the desk in the corner of the room and started typing.
“There’s a certain standard…” Greg cleared his throat. “I’m not sure cottages are the way to go.”
Olivia laughed. She was pretty sure that Lynn Howard’s parents’ place was only called a cottage because it was on the lake. “I think I know what you need. I’m going to take a run out to the properties I’m thinking of right after this. I’ll have pictures for you before the end of the day.”
— —
Blue Heron Lane was just outside the village, on the far side of the ridge that hemmed in Pine Harbour to the south. Ryan and Lynn lived in the house at the top of the lane—her parents’ old property. Between them and the lake lay five rental cottages, each one nicer than the last. The house at the very end of the lane was their retirement home, and it was truly breathtaking. Lynn’s father, Mike Fenich, had been a contractor before selling the remains of his business to Jake Foster. Now their only business interests were the cottage rentals. Olivia was pretty sure they spent most of the winter down south and they might not even be around, but she could start with Lynn.
The trees here were mostly pine, but around the Howard house there were a few tall oaks and the leaves had all fallen on the lawn. Three unlit jack o’lanterns smiled ghoulishly at her from the wide front porch, a reminder that she needed to pick up candy on her way home. Halloween was only five days away. Olivia parked her little Civic next to Lynn’s navy blue minivan.
As soon as she knocked at the front door, it swung open. Maya, the youngest Howard, gazed up at her with super solemn eyes but didn’t say anything. Behind her came Lynn, laughing as she wiped her hands on her jeans. Tall, thin and blonde, Lynn Howard had a timeless beauty that shone through no matter what—even when she was tired or sad. Today she looked both, despite her ready smile.
