No reason. No claim. And yes, I still wanted it.
"Should I step out to give you a minute?" he asked, frowning. "I'll tell them you're taking a call. I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable position."
He could've volleyed back with a smartass remark or a fun jab about me attacking him or rebuke me for criticizing his social media presence. But he didn't do that. I shook my head because the knot of emotion in my throat made it too difficult to speak. I crossed the room toward him, his belt in hand, and wrapped my arms around his torso. "I don't like you, Mr. Guillmand," I said to his chest. "Not one bit."
He pressed his lips to my cheek. I felt him smile. "No, you don't, Miz Malik."
I wasn't a hugger.
People didn't greet me with a friendly hug and I preferred it that way.
As far as I was concerned, hugs were intimate gestures. They required a closeness that didn't have a home in the regular course of my life. It wasn't that I was incapable of engaging in that kind of closeness with others or expressing my fondness for them with physical touch. I simply preferred to do those things with other, less familiar gestures.
Talbott's Cove didn't do other, less familiar gestures.
No, hugging was a way of life here. Save for Owen and Cole who knew me well enough to know better, I was subject to unlimited hugs when I was in this area. Babies, adults, dogs—you name it, they hugged.
That was how I came to have an infant latched onto my cheek while also tearing my hair from the roots.
"Elliott, seriously, kid," Brooke Harniczek warned, prying his fingers open. "We can't do this to nice people. Neera's going to think you're a cannibal."
Outside on the deck with Owen, Gus shifted to face me, an amused smile pulling at his lips. He tipped his chin up. I did my best to return the smile despite the parents hovering around me and their baby.
"It's all these teeth he's cutting," JJ said, gathering his son under his arms while Brooke freed the last strands of my hair from his chubby palms. "I'm telling you, Bam, he needs more than milk, bananas, and avocado. We should give him a bone to gnaw on or something."
"Jed, we're not having this conversation while we extricate our child from his latest victim," she replied, sliding her finger into his mouth and breaking the suction on my cheek. I stepped back, grinning at baby Elliott as he sucked Brooke's finger while JJ cradled him. Those three rarely separated. It was unexpected—and sweet. "He can have a slab of prime rib if that's what he wants but first, we're dealing with the fact he tried to maul Cole's guest and it's not the first time he's done something like this."
"After all these years, I'm hardly a guest," I said, waving off their concern. I wasn't one for casual hugs and I didn't see that changing, but I wasn't upset about one zealous infant. If anything, he was a fine reminder that I was due to visit my gynecologist for a new IUD. "He's getting so big. How old is he now?"
"Almost seven months old," JJ replied, pride beaming from his deep grin. "Four teeth too."
"Don't I know it," Brooke muttered. "I'm so sorry he glommed all over you. He gets so excited when he comes here. The dogs, the uncles. Everything." She shook her head, only glancing away from her son for a moment. "I hope he didn't leave a mark. Is it okay? Did he get you?"
Again, I waved off the concern. "Nothing to worry about."
The deck door opened and Owen entered, a tray of grilled fish and vegetables in hand. "Have a seat, everyone," he called as he moved into the kitchen. Gus followed, closing the door behind him. "If you're pouring drinks, Harniczek, do it now."
"Already done," JJ replied, pulling out a chair for Brooke with one hand, football-holding Elliott in the other.
Cole, Gus, and I found our seats. Owen set the platters on the table and turned toward JJ, his arms outstretched. "I'll hold this little guy while you eat," he said.
"Are you sure?" JJ asked.
Owen nodded, plucking the baby from JJ's hold. "This is what uncles are for, yes. Sit, eat. I'll give him back when he needs to be changed."
JJ watched closely while Owen settled into his seat at the head of the table with Elliott perched on his lap. Eventually, JJ dropped into a chair beside Brooke, his gaze still fixed on his son.
Cole glanced up and down the table, frowning. "Why aren't Jackson and Annette here?"
"They're moving this weekend," Brooke answered. She glanced at me and Gus while she snatched JJ's plate away from him and proceeded to fill it with food. "You've met them, Neera. He's the sheriff. She's the little one with the curly hair. She owns the bookstore in town."
Gus bobbed his head, saying, "Yes. I met her today."
I shifted to face him. "What? When?"
He smirked. "When I was wandering. She explained some of the region's natural history and pointed me toward several books on the indigenous people."
"They're moving into the new place, Brooke? Their house is finished?" Cole asked.
"The paint is still wet but it's finished," she replied, handing the plate back to JJ.
"Took them long enough," Owen muttered.
"And Nate?" Cole asked, searching the table once again. "Where is he?"
JJ nodded as he sipped his drink. "Nate is moving into Annette and Jackson's old rental."
"Yeah, he's had enough of the tavern's attic," Brooke added. "Something about the low ceilings and tiny windows and the potpourri of beer and onion rings." She glanced back at us while she served herself. "He manages the tavern now that Jed lives and breathes gin. You'll meet him on your next visit."
Before I could swerve out of that commitment, Gus said, "That would be great."
"That kid needs a dog," Owen announced. Elliott was drooling all over his hand. Owen didn't seem to notice.
"The kid is much closer to thirty than he is twenty," JJ remarked. "We can't call him a kid forever."
"Can," Owen replied. "Will."
Cole shot an indulgent smile at his husband. "You think everyone needs a dog."
Owen nodded at the dogs seated beside him, Sasha and the Harniczeks' dog Butterscotch. Their tails thumped against the floor as they waited for scraps and attention. "It's true. I'm going to phone the kid after dinner and give him some info on the shelter where we adopted Sasha."
"I'm not sure he has time for a dog," JJ said. "But he loves Butterscotch."
"What's not to love?" Owen asked, using his free hand to scratch her head before moving on to Sasha. "Nate would do well with a dog. He needs someone counting on him."
"How is the distillery business coming along?" I asked JJ.
He ran a hand down his face, laughing. "Better than I'd expected. More tiring than I'd expected."
"Four teeth before seven months is part of the exhaustion," Brooke quipped. "Our kid likes to beat all expectations."
"My wife is correct. If he keeps going at this pace, I'll be able to put him to work pouring drinks some time next summer," JJ said. "Honestly, it's been incredible. We're closed one day per week now and that day is necessary to keep everything stocked and working properly. The real challenge is demand. We have a waiting list for events and distribution partners already. I didn't expect we'd get to this point for several years."
"I'm thrilled to hear it," I said.
"And I'm thrilled to drink it," Cole added.
Owen chuckled. "I'm thrilled you're a cozy drunk."
"How is your world, Neera?" Brooke asked. "It must be bizarre to go between Silicon Valley and Talbott's Cove. When I first came back here from New York City, I was fixated on all the overwhelming differences. I couldn't see the village without noticing the absence of yellow taxis and gridlock. It's quiet and everyone walks slowly and it is so freaking dark at night. Right? Do you notice these things?"
"There is some culture shock," I admitted with a laugh. "But Cole keeps me busy. I barely get time to notice the lack of noise and light when we're working together."
"I'm sure he does," JJ said. "It's not easy to keep track of this guy. I don't envy you."
Bristli
ng, I forced a grin and lifted my drink to my lips. It was an innocuous comment—and one from a man who knew the realities of working with Cole—but it hit me the wrong way. When I boiled it all down, JJ was right. I kept track of Cole. My career was composed of helping men achieve great things by keeping them out of their own way.
At what point would I achieve something of my own? It wasn't a thought I entertained often. On most days, I was content—more than that, satisfied—with being the one who made things happen.
Suddenly, I didn't feel content today.
Later that night, Gus and I were again closed up in the guest room. This time, we were getting ready for bed. Unlike the hedonistic moment we'd shared earlier, this was domestic and chaste. I tended to my extensive nightly skincare routine while Gus cleaned the remains of charcoal from his wrists and palms. I caught glimpses of him in the mirror as he hummed to himself and he circled a damp bit of cloth over his skin, focusing on the stains pressed far into the fine creases of skin.
"Let me ask you again," he started, "what do you think about all this?" He gestured to the door. "The family and the dogs and the baby and the total absence of business as usual. At least the business to which you're familiar."
"Regardless of my previous comments on the matter, you're expecting me to confess I hate it," I murmured. "That I prefer the clean structure of the Valley."
"And all its tightly branded bullshit? Yeah. I am anticipating that."
Instead of answering him, I asked, "What did you think of this evening's gathering?"
Frowning down at his palms, he replied, "I enjoyed it in spite of my expectations."
"Meaning what, exactly?"
"Meaning this isn't the norm for either of us," he replied. "You like your clean structure and I like my wide open spaces, and somehow both of us enjoyed that meal of chaos."
"It wasn't chaos," I argued. "It was emblematic of a different phase of life, one where animals and tiny humans are as relevant as the adults and their endeavors."
"Do you like that phase of life?" he asked. "The one with animals and—what did you call them?—tiny humans?"
I barked out a laugh. "I'm very happy for people who choose to bring children into the world and commit to raising them in loving families. My sister Talbia has two children," I added, almost an afterthought. "A boy and girl. They're young, four and six, if my memory serves. She adores them. She was meant to be a mother. She's a good daughter, as well. My parents live with her and her husband. She has what it takes to do those things and she's remarkably successful. The desire to nurture is not one I share."
"Isn't it, though?" he asked. "You gather up helpless creatures to save them from themselves. They aren't infants or the elderly, but you nurture them just the same, sparrow."
I glared at him. "You wouldn't say that to a male chief of staff."
"Probably not," he admitted. "But I only said it because you suggested your sister is the successful sibling based on her capacity for keeping her children and your parents tended."
"She is the successful one," I replied.
Behind me, Gus snickered. "You are fascinating, Miz Malik. Paid in gold bars, traveling on private jets, and debating measures of success."
"In her way, she is phenomenally successful. My life isn't meaningful and valuable because I earn a good living"—another snicker—"or travel comfortably. And her life doesn't lack meaning because her days are spent caring for her husband, her children, our parents. But I do know I wouldn't have the same success if I tried my hand at living her life."
"I'm sure you'd make a fine mother," he said.
"Don't do that. Don't patronize me," I replied. "Whenever a woman announces she isn't interested in motherhood, everyone jumps to convince her it's worth it, she'd be a natural, she'll regret missing out on her childbearing years when she's older. That doesn't account for the truth that some women aren't cut out for the task and others simply do not want the job."
"And you don't," he added.
I shook my head once. "I don't think I do, no."
"I respect that." With a nod, Gus tossed his rag to the floor and reached for my waist. "I know you said you wanted to keep it chill around your boss," he started, his lips on the back of my neck, "but, earlier…when we…you didn't—"
"I'm all right," I said, laughing. Talk about conversational whiplash. "There's no scorecard."
He tugged off his shirt, threw it in the same direction as his rag. "Maybe not but I believe in equality."
I eyed him in the mirror, my lips quirking up. "Do you?"
"Indeed. It's one of my top concerns. I don't believe you can be quiet, however. That's my secondary concern."
"What, may I ask, is your proposed solution?"
He shuffled toward the window, bending at the waist to peer out into the darkness. "I propose we take a stroll down the dock." He stood, glancing around the room before yanking a plaid wool blanket off the foot of the bed. "And we're taking this with us. I can handle my share of bug bites but splinters in my ass are a different story."
Chapter Ten
Gus
Tenebrism: a technique employing extreme contrasts of light and dark used to increase emotion and drama.
On our last day in Talbott's Cove, I woke up with the dawn. Neera was still asleep. I shifted toward her, wrapping my arms around her waist. I wanted to hold her close and savor this moment before it ended. I wasn't ready for the end, not in the least. I didn't even want to leave the bed because I knew every step away from this location was a step closer to the conclusion of us.
I couldn't explain it though I knew there was something magical about this town. For me, for us. It was more than the slower pace, more than the forest and sea. It was a place for wandering but also finding. It was roots—permanence—without losing any of the wildness that pumped in my veins. And I knew it was inside Neera too.
I continued to doubt my ability to find this town—hell, the state—on a map, but I wanted to stick around. More than that, I wanted Neera to stick around with me. I wanted to keep all of this.
Why Neera agreed to come on a walk through the woods while the sun was still busy rising would always be a mystery to me. Regardless, I managed to get her out of bed and out of the house without attracting the attention of our hosts and that was a gift because I needed time with her. Time and space to make my case, make her see the things I saw.
We walked in silence for several minutes as I searched for the rock I'd noticed the first time I'd explored this area. I'd wanted her to see this and I'd wanted to see her here. It took several more minutes of heading in one direction, doubling back, starting off in another direction, retreating, and finally settling on the right path before that strange, wonderful outcropping.
"Isn't this amazing?" I asked as we circled the exposed rock. "There's so much I could do with this."
She blinked at the rock. "Sculpting, you mean?"
"Maybe but also—anything," I said. "It's marvelous to study. It's a story waiting to be told." I dropped my hands to her waist and steered her toward it. "Sit there for me. Please," I added when she gave me a baleful stare. I shrugged my backpack off my shoulders and retrieved a sketchbook and charcoal. "Please, sparrow."
She nestled on the upper slab, her legs tucked under her and her body angled toward the ocean. "Is this what you want?"
I stared at her, perched on the edge of a majestic rock as if she was presiding over this land. I flipped open my book as images flooded my mind's eye. "This is exactly what I want." Not missing her slight eyeroll, I continued, "I've learned a few things about this land since we've been here. The land and the people who have lived on it throughout time. I don't know those stories well enough to tell them yet, but I want to find my way there. I want to learn and I want to figure it out because when I came across this rock and saw it jutting out of the ground like it'd been thrown down from the heavens or shot out of hell, I knew I had to translate this story. I want to tell the story of this place."
Still staring at her fingers as they stroked the moss, I asked, "Will you tell me a story?"
"What kind of story?"
"A story of the future," I said, my gaze fixed on her hand while I sketched. "What comes next? Where do we go? Who are we?"
"That's a complicated story," she replied, twisting her hands together.
"I don't think it is." I flipped to a new page. "What do you want to do with your life, Neera? Tell me that."
I could feel her frowning at me for several heavy beats before she asked, "In what sense?"
"The rock you're sitting on has been here for at least twelve thousand years. Probably longer. I stumbled upon it a few days ago and I knew—I fucking knew—it deserved attention. It came from somewhere and it served purposes great and small and it's worth remembering." I turned the page, started sketching again. "What do you want from this life, Neera?"
She sucked in a breath and I knew the dam was breaking.
"I want to do something," she started, her voice smaller than I'd ever heard it, "something of my own."
"It's your turn to be seen, isn't it?" Another breath and I could almost see her heart swelling with the pleasure of recognition. "That's what it is. Recognition of you, for you. Not because of anyone else but because you're brilliant and talented and you've earned it."
She hesitated. "I think—"
"No," I argued. "You know what you want. Say it. Just fucking say it, sparrow. We're all alone out here. You and me and a rock that's nowhere near as tough as you. Say it."
Rough Sketch Page 8
