Healed with a Kiss

by Gina Wilkins

  “She sounds like a special woman.”

  “She was,” Logan said, his voice deepening. “My sisters and I had a great childhood. We stayed in Tennessee because that was where my maternal grandmother settled when she remarried after losing her first husband in an industrial accident when my mother was a toddler. Mom wanted to be close to her mother and stepdad after her own marriage broke up. Grandma had sold her share of the inn to her brother, Great-Uncle Leo, years earlier, but they remained close and Leo was an important part of my mom’s childhood—as he was of ours. So we had Grandma and her husband to spoil us in Tennessee, and Uncle Leo and Aunt Helen indulging us every time we came to Virginia. I can’t say we lacked for anything, really. The girls and I hardly remembered Dad ever living in the same household with us, so we didn’t miss what we’d never had.”

  She believed him when he said his childhood had been a happy one. His still-close relationship with his sisters was ample testimony to that. Still, she suspected it hadn’t been as easy as he implied to grow up without his father in his life, even though he and his sisters had adjusted to that reality from an early age. She thought there was still more about his past he hadn’t told her—something that had left scars on his heart as well as his body. He had his reasons for being so solitary and cynical, and she didn’t think she’d heard them all. But maybe they’d shared enough about their pasts.

  “So, what would you like to do after lunch?” she asked brightly, taking out her handy tourist guide. “We could take a ferry over to Bainbridge Island and check out the galleries. Or we could ride a water taxi to Alki Beach and see the replica of the Statue of Liberty there. Or we could watch boats go through the locks from Lake Washington to Puget Sound and vice versa.”

  “I wouldn’t mind visiting the locks,” Logan said. “Unless you’d rather do one of those other things.”

  Watching boats, riding a ferry, strolling the streets—it occurred to her that she didn’t really care what they did, as long as they did it together. But maybe it would be best if they spent the rest of the time focusing on fun and not dwelling on their pasts.

  * * *

  He loved watching her laugh. Her whole face lit up, making her gray eyes gleam as silver as the water sparkling around them as they strolled through the grounds of the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks, which included a botanical garden. Alexis laughed quite a bit during their visit, proving she’d put their somber conversation about absentee fathers out of her mind for the afternoon, to Logan’s approval.

  The waning sun poked through gathering clouds, beams glittering in Alexis’s hair, which she wore casually loose around her shoulders. Though the air was still chilly enough to make their jackets feel good, the sunlight had brought out quite a few Friday afternoon visitors to the complex. They gathered at the safety fences surrounding the locks, watching barges and tugs and yachts being raised to the lake or lowered to the sound below. At the highest level, the crew and passengers on the vessels were almost even with the spectators, nearly close enough to reach out and touch.

  Logan wondered if the boaters felt a bit like zoo exhibits with so many curious eyes and lifted cameras aimed at them, but maybe they were used to the gaping, or simply too busy to be self-conscious. A few of them waved and returned greetings, but mostly they seemed eager to be on their way.

  Beyond the two locks, he and Alexis and the other visitors crossed in front of a 235-foot spillway to reach the fish ladder incorporated into the far side. A steel sculpture shaped to look like curving silver waves dominated the pavement at the top of the ladder, and quite a few tourists posed for photos among the repetitive forms. From there, ramps led down to the underground viewing room. No fish jumped in the water that rushed down the twenty-one steps that made up the ladder. They’d been told they’d be lucky to see even one or two steelhead making use of the ladder this late in the migratory season.

  Alexis was excited to spot a lone steelhead swimming lazily in the green water on the other side of the glass panels built into the wall of the underground fish viewing room. Stadium-style concrete benches faced the glass and large signs displayed drawings and information about the different types of salmon that could be observed at various times of the year.

  “You should come back in the late summer or early fall sometime,” an indulgent elderly man told her, seeing her pleasure at identifying the fish. “It’s a lot of fun watching the big chinook and coho and sockeye salmon jumping up the ladder and crowding into this passage on their way through, sometimes so many of them they can hardly move.”

  Somehow Alexis ended up sitting on a bench beside the man, their heads bent over a cell phone filled with photographs he’d taken during his many visits here. Standing to one side to silently watch the interchange, Logan realized that Alexis wasn’t just being polite. She was actually enjoying listening to the man’s stories, and the old guy was lapping up the attention from the attractive younger woman.

  She definitely had a way about her, a warmth that drew people to her. Her heart might be well guarded behind hard-earned barriers, but somehow she still came across as open and genuinely interested in others. It was no wonder she’d done so well with her business thus far. Her brides and other clients liked her, and they believed that she was sincerely interested in making them happy. Which was the truth. Despite the strife-filled youth she’d described to him earlier—or maybe because of that early chaos—she had emerged as a thoughtful, generous, outgoing adult. Perhaps ironically, he, who had experienced a happy, supportive, mostly carefree early childhood, was more prone to hiding himself away from people, even pushing them away, closing himself off.

  Yet still something had drawn them together. And though he’d originally tried to brush it off as nothing more than a powerful physical attraction, he was increasingly certain there was more to it. He’d enjoyed hanging out with her here in Seattle, even outside the hotel room. He hadn’t even minded too badly when they’d swapped personal revelations because frankly, he’d been interested in what he’d learned about her today. Not that he wanted to spend the rest of their vacation having heart-to-hearts about past pain, but the one conversation hadn’t been as bad as he might have expected. Maybe that, too, just seemed safer here, away from their real lives.

  Back above ground a short while later, they took their time crossing over the dam again, pausing to watch seagulls, herons, diving birds and the occasional jumping fish, and to observe the taller ships cruising beneath a railroad drawbridge on their way toward the locks from the sound. A sea lion entertained the spectators by randomly popping up and submerging in Salmon Bay, making younger visitors—and a few older ones—squeal and point whenever it emerged.

  Alexis laughed again, the musical sound making his stomach tighten in response. She looked up at him and shook her head almost sheepishly. “I laugh every time he pops up, don’t I? I don’t know why I find it so funny. I only wish I could have seen salmon jumping like mad up the ladder, the way they were in Mr. Burroughs’s photographs. I’m sure that’s a lot of fun.”

  He draped an arm loosely around her shoulders. “It is rather dark humor, you know.”

  She turned with him in the direction of the exit gates. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean they’re so darned focused on getting to a place where they’ll just spawn and die. Sort of reminds me of some of the brides and grooms we’ve hosted at the inn.”

  She laughed again, though more ironically this time. “You would come up with something like that.”

  They crossed a narrow walkway over the first gate, staying to the right so people going the other direction could pass them—two young guys walking their bicycles, tourists with cameras hanging from their necks, a woman pushing a jogging stroller, a couple with two big dogs on leashes. Alexis had commented earlier that Seattle seemed to be a city full of dog lovers; everywhere they’d been during the past day and a half, they’d seen
dogs on leashes and in carriers and even in doggy strollers, all breeds and sizes and colors.

  “Ninja would love it here,” she said now.

  Logan looked up at a grassy hillside on which a flock of Canada geese milled and pecked. He pictured his dog making one of his notorious escapes from his leash and cheerfully dispersing the peaceful group. “Yeah. Not sure Seattle’s ready for Ninja, though.”

  Alexis giggled and laced her fingers with his. She seemed to enjoy holding hands here, maybe just because they were free to do so. He wasn’t complaining.

  They passed the visitors center where they’d earlier watched a film about the history of the locks and browsed the gift shop. Alexis did have a weakness for gift shops, he thought with a slight smile. Though she’d been the first to declare it totally tacky, she’d been unable to resist buying a plastic fridge magnet shaped like a leaping salmon and printed with the locks logo.

  They weren’t quite ready to return to the hotel room, so they ate a leisurely dinner out, sharing crab-and-artichoke pizza this time. Afterward, they wandered into a downtown bar with live music, a very good three-piece combo, and were lucky enough to find a table even on this bustling Friday evening. Their table wasn’t ideal, being located just off the main traffic pattern to the exit, but the service was good, as were the drinks and the music. They were even able to talk without raising their voices by sitting close together at the tiny table, so Logan wasn’t complaining.

  Alexis smiled at him, looking a little tired but content. “I’ve had a great day. It was so much fun playing tourist with you.”

  He reached out to brush her jaw with the backs of his fingers. “I had a good time, too.”

  “One more day and then we have to get back to work,” she said with a low sigh. “What would you like to do tomorrow?”

  He shrugged. “You can pick something from your handy tourist guide. I’m sure I’ll like it.”

  She’d pored over that travel guide so much he figured she must have it memorized, and her spate of suggestions seemed to confirm that suspicion. “Maybe the art museum. And maybe one of the other cool museums in town, like the flight museum. One of the beach parks, if the weather is nice again. Or there’s Green Lake or the zoo or a ferry ride to Bainbridge Island...or maybe you’d like to check out the Microsoft Visitor Center, being a computer geek yourself. Who knows? You could decide to join the huge tech community here.”

  Though he knew she was teasing, he shook his head. “I’m not looking for another computer job. I’m a groundskeeper these days, and perfectly happy with it.”

  She studied his face with her head tilted in curiosity. “Did you close your software company when you reopened the inn? What made you decide you’d rather be a groundskeeper than a full-time software designer?”

  “It just worked out that way,” he said offhandedly. “Actually, my business closed a few months before Uncle Leo died and left us the inn. Turned out the partner I thought I could trust was— Well, let’s just call him a creative bookkeeper.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “He embezzled from the business?”

  “Not to the extent that he could be prosecuted. He covered himself legally, but he was definitely unethical about it. He pretty much cleaned us out, then took off, and I was the one left to make the choice of shutting down or going into big debt to start up again. Then my sisters and I inherited the inn and I decided to help them get it up and running again while I decided what to do next. Turns out keeping up the inn and working with my sisters suits me just fine. I like it. It means something to me to know I’m maintaining a place that’s been in my mother’s family for four generations. Doing the software consultations on the side lets me put my training and experience to use when I choose to, so I’ve got the best of both worlds.”

  Which was all he wanted to say for now about the fiasco with his former friend-slash-business-partner. “So, no computer stuff tomorrow. Let’s just do the tourist thing.”

  “Museums, then,” she said, taking his hint to change the subject. “And maybe a park if the weather cooperates. Green Lake Park looks nice in all the photographs.”

  “Whatever you want to do.”

  She laughed softly. “You’re being very agreeable this evening.”

  Thinking of how nicely the day had started—waking up in bed with her—he shrugged. “As you said, it’s been a good day.”

  She reached over to squeeze his left thigh beneath the table. Her thumb rested on his knee, only an inch or so above the knotted scar tissue that bracketed it. She’d never asked about those scars after the first time she’d seen him unclothed. She’d been satisfied with his terse explanation that he’d injured himself playing college sports and had apparently gotten the message that he didn’t like to talk about it. Alexis always respected his privacy. Even though she’d asked more about his dad and his former business than usual today, he knew she’d have backed off either subject if he’d asked her to, just as she’d taken his cue to move on just now.

  He hadn’t exactly lied to her about his scars. He just hadn’t told her everything. The malignancy in his leg had been discovered almost by chance when he’d broken his tibia playing an intramural rugby game at college. In his experience, people had a lot of different responses to hearing he’d battled cancer. Most of those reactions were ones he didn’t want to see from Alexis.

  To distract himself from those thoughts—and just because he wanted to—he leaned over to brush a kiss across her lips. She reached up to clutch his shirt, tugging him closer to make the kiss last just a little longer. Neither of them paid the least attention to the people drinking, talking and milling around them and even if anyone was looking at them, Logan couldn’t care less.

  Alexis was smiling when he lifted his head, and she looked as unconcerned as he was about any potential spectators.

  “So, are you about done with that drink?” he asked, hearing the husky edge to his own voice. “Ready to head back to the room?”

  She set down the almost-empty glass. “Actually, I am getting—”

  “Alexis? Alexis Mosley? Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe it!”

  In response to her name, Alexis turned so fast she almost knocked her glass off the table. Logan reached out quickly to steady it before looking up.

  The woman was tall, very slender except for impressive breasts, very spray-tanned, very blonde. Clothes too skimpy for the weather, heels too high for walking more than a few feet. Jewelry jingled when she bent to kiss the air at either side of Alexis’s face.

  “Isabella, what a nice surprise!” Alexis said, her voice more artificially sparkling than Logan had ever heard it. “It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.”

  “Oh, girl, I know. When was it? Two? Three years ago?”

  “Closer to three, I think. It must have been that thing at Brayden’s place.”

  “Oh, my God, that was wild, wasn’t it? I’m pretty sure my elbows are still purple.”

  Which made no sense to Logan at all, of course, but Alexis laughed brightly. It didn’t sound at all like the easy laughter he’d heard from her earlier. “Crazy,” she said. “So what are you doing in Seattle?”

  “I’m in a show at the cutest little theater here. It’s a new play by an amazing young talent. Final rehearsals this week, and opening night next weekend. Please tell me you’ll still be in town.”

  “I’m afraid not. I’m devastated.”

  “I’m heartbroken.”

  And I’m nauseated. Logan bit the inside of his mouth, staying still and quiet so as not to draw attention to himself. Isabella had given him a quick once-over and then turned away, obviously writing him off as unimportant.

  “I see Paloma occasionally,” she said to Alexis. “She’s really making a name for herself these days. Have you stayed in touch with her?”

  “Yes, we’re sti
ll quite close, though I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “She looks great. I think she’s had something done, though I can’t figure out exactly what it was. Obviously, she’s found a brilliant doctor. You should ask her next time you talk to her. Oh, and by the way, Jerry was asking about you a few weeks ago. He’s getting some things together for early next year and he’d be thrilled to hear from you. You are going back to the city, aren’t you?”

  Alexis murmured something inaudible, then exchanged more smacking air kisses with Isabella, who rushed away immediately afterward.

  Logan stared hard at Alexis when they were alone again. “Who the hell was that?”

  “Isabella Larkins. We knew each other in New York. Sorry I didn’t introduce you, but I thought—”

  “I wasn’t talking about her,” he interrupted. “I meant you. I’ve never seen you act quite like that.”

  Her face went pink in response to his comment, and he realized he’d displayed his usual lack of tact. But, damn. That had been a weird exchange.

  “That was the New York Alexis,” she muttered, looking down at her hands. “I’m not sure you’d have liked her. There were times I wasn’t crazy about her myself.”

  He couldn’t imagine not liking Alexis. But then, he’d rather be stabbed with a million sharp toothpicks than to mingle with the New York theater crowd. He remembered the way she’d hesitated before answering when Kinley had asked if she missed performing, though she’d ultimately replied that she did not.

  Odd to think they never would have met if she hadn’t decided to give up performing and start directing, in a way. They’d never really talked about what had triggered that decision. But then, there were a lot of things they’d never talked about.

  Chapter Eight