by Sarita Leone
“Hey.” Brilliant. Not only was logic gone—so were his communication skills.
Thankfully, Annie still retained hers. Obviously, not as affected by their meeting.
“Nice day.”
He gazed at the clear blue sky. Not one cloud in sight. A perfect day for the beach.
The beach.
“It is,” he said. “Listen, about last night—”
She cut him off, shaking her head so hard the leather barrette corralling her curls slipped. She didn’t notice, and he didn’t dare point it out.
“I acted like a—I don’t know…I just…”
He put a hand on her shoulder. Soft, warm—just the way it felt last night.
“No, don’t. I shouldn’t have come on so strong.” He wished the sadness he saw in her eyes wasn’t there. He wished he hadn’t put it there. “I don’t know what happened. It was just easy to talk with you…I felt a connection. I was hoping you felt it, too.”
Time stops when waiting on a female. He was sure his heart stopped, or at the very least slowed, in his chest.
Annie pulled her lower lip between her teeth. It was beyond bewitching, watching her choose her words while she worried that plump, pink lip. The sight wasn’t doing anything to loosen the crotch of his Levis, that’s for sure.
“I think that’s why I did the white rabbit thing.” Annie smiled, and his heart began to thump beneath his t-shirt again. “I feel a connection, too. It’s just…ah, I don’t know how to say this, but it’s just…”
He squeezed her arm, a gentle touch. It occurred that she might be as affected, but hid it better than he did.
“Too much? Too fast? Too soon?”
She laughed, and the tension between them evaporated, chased to the wind and lost to the sky.
“All of the above, maybe?” He ran his palm down her arm before pulling it away. Once her skin was free from his, the urge to touch her again was overwhelming. “Too this, too that, too fast?”
She nodded. “Probably a little bit of each. Is that terrible?”
“No, it’s cool. I should have held back, I know that. Like I said, you’re just so easy to feel connected to, and the moment took over and…hey, I’m sorry I chased you off.”
She shrugged, a shy movement that made his breath catch.
Demure and sexy—he never would have thought they could mesh, but the living, breathing proof of it looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes.
“I shouldn’t have run. I feel foolish. Forgive me?”
“If you can forgive me the steamroller act.”
“Nothing to forgive.” She shook her head, and the barrette finally fell free. He caught it, then held it out. Her fingers brushed his palm as she scooped it up, sending a zing! up his spine. “Thanks. I thought something was going on up here.”
Running her fingers through her waves, fanning the hair across her shoulders—hell, it was almost painful to watch something so simple yet so mind-numbing.
“Then it seems we’re cool. I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
A silence. Short, yet it felt like forever.
When his brain engaged, he cleared his throat.
“Listen, I was thinking it’s a great night for the beach.” He held up a hand. “No, not that way—I mean, do you snorkel? Or scuba dive? I’ve got a boat, nothing big or fancy, but it’s a helluva lot of fun to take out. Even just past the breakers, to swim. Sound like something you’d be willing to try?”
“Yeah, it sounds cool. But tonight? I don’t know…”
Uh oh. “Do you have a date?”
A grin. A heart-gripping grin. “Yeah. With my kid. I didn’t eat dinner with her last night, remember? We took the jam to the store, left her sleeping. Clarisse had her in bed by the time I got in.”
She took a deep breath, then shook her head.
“I can’t. As much as I want to say yes—and I do—I just can’t bail on her two nights in a row. I mean, look at me now—the absent parent, standing out here while she’s in there. I’m sorry, Steve.”
He turned, held a hand toward the historical society’s steps. They began to walk, avoiding a fresh crush of tourists practically knocking each other down in an effort to get to the large anchor.
“I get that. But how about if we go out later, say after Sienna is in bed? Would that work?”
They’d reached the top step, stood outside the wide glass entrance doors.
“It would. If you don’t mind waiting to take the boat out.”
“I don’t mind. Being on the water at night is one of my favorite things. It is by far the optimal time for mermaid spotting—do you realize that?” He winked, and she giggled—and they were back to where they were before he’d jumped her in the sand.
“I did not.” He opened the door for her, and was sorely tempted to go in, too, but stopped at the threshold. The overzealous crap had scared her off last night. A mistake he wasn’t going to repeat.
“Okay, then. See you after dinner. Any special time?”
She considered. “Sienna should be in bed by nine.”
“Cool. I’ll be by the house just after the clock strikes nine.”
“Okay.” She turned to walk in. Hesitated. Stopped, and turned around to face him again. “I’m glad we bumped into each other. Really, glad.”
“Me, too. Now, go check out the place. Let me know if you find any wayward pirates in there.”
****
Any other time, the Lobster Cove Historical Society exhibits would have caught and held Annie’s attention. She would have lost track of the passing hours, immersed herself in tales of pirates, smugglers, scientists and pioneers brave enough to settle in a hard environment under tough conditions.
She would have been swept back in time. Lost in another dimension entirely…
Forgotten about Sputnik. Vietnam. The Beatles.
Any other time that’s precisely what would have happened once she stepped into the large brick building filled to the brim with images of days gone by.
But with Steve’s voice ringing in her ears, she could barely concentrate. On anything. Or anyone. Including poor Sienna.
Thankfully, Clarisse was in her glory, regaling them with long, involved, intriguing tales. She knew every bit of local lore there was to know, and took great pride in passing it on. Even with her mind in the clouds, Annie thought Clarisse’s knowledge would make a fantastic book.
She made a mental note to discuss the book idea, sometime when there were just the two of them.
If Clarisse minded her joining the pair and just walking along, quietly, she didn’t let it show. Sienna chattered about everything, asked enough questions for a small army and generally filled the hole her mother’s lack of conversation left.
Thank God for the kid, Annie thought.
They entered a large room with floor-to-ceiling glass display cases on all four walls and display cabinets in the center as well. In one corner, a large bell stood on a bricked slab. An enormous figure of a woman, carved from wood and still retaining some of what she assumed was its original paint, hung from the ceiling.
“Neato!” Sienna’s head tipped so far back she was nearly doubled over.
“She sure is, isn’t she? Take a good look now. We’ve got time. Give the lady her due respect.” Clarisse gave them a few minutes to take in the details.
Every wave on the carved woman’s head was perfect, and looked windswept from her brow. Her eyes, huge and chocolaty brown, should have seemed blank and staring, but instead were lifelike and mesmerizing. Her clothing, a low-cut, cleavage-barring periwinkle blue dress, hugged a form hinted at in full detail by the masterful carving.
“From a wreck?” Annie knew it had to be, or the female form wouldn’t be in this room. She looked around. The cases held bits and pieces…definitely from a wreckage.
So sad. She was so gorgeous and had obviously met a bad end.
“Oh, yes. She’s our most famous wreck, actually.” Clarisse sighed, gazing loving
ly on the figure above them. “Our own Duchess Jane Ainsley.”
“You know who she is?” Annie thought it was just some random representation from a woodcarver’s imagination.
“Certainly. She was carved in the likeness of the duchess herself. They were both on the ship, aptly named The Duchess, when it sank in eighteen-fourteen Just past the shoals, it was. The real duchess was never recovered. But this washed up on the beach, thankfully. As did the Duke.”
“A duke in Lobster Cove? Really?”
Clarisse smiled. “Yes, we had a duke here, Annie. In fact, he liked it so much, he stayed. Buried up near the Methodist Church, he is. I imagine he fell in love with the weather here—why, there’s no comparison to the drab English countryside, is there?”
Sienna asked the question Annie knew she would. “What happened to the duchess? I mean, the real duchess?”
Clarisse inhaled. Held it. Then, she exhaled and looked down at the little girl.
“Well, sweetie, that’s the thing. Nowadays, we’d say she passed on, was drowned in the sea after the ship crashed. That’s how we would explain the disappearance. But in eighteen-fourteen, well, people looked at things differently. They didn’t share the opinion we have.”
Persistent to the very end, Sienna asked, “So? What did the old Lobster Cove people say happened? Huh?”
“The scuttlebutt—which means gossip—about the Cove was that the duchess didn’t drown. They say she became a mermaid.”
Chapter 11
Annie had planned how it would be when her date arrived. So smooth. So casual. Laid-back, relaxed, and ready—that was the vision she had.
She wanted to be ready when Steve showed up. Dressed nicely. Hair brushed and styled. Makeup minimal, but pretty. The whole extreme eye shadow and liner, red lips, and heavy rouge was never her thing but clean, a hint of blush, eye makeup, and lip gloss never hurt a woman. Less was more, in her eyes.
That was the plan. But as mothers with small children learn the hard way, plans went awry. Seriously awry.
She groaned when she heard the doorbell chime. Elbow deep in soapy sink water—just the way no woman ever wanted to be found when a date arrived. She grabbed the dishtowel, wiping her hands as she headed through the house.
He stood on the front porch looking as if he’d just sailed off the pages of a Casual Male catalog. Hip huggers slung low, the flare at his ankles neither too wide nor too skimpy. The usual t-shirt had been changed out for a navy blue, Nehru-collar shirt. Untucked. Brown huaraches on his feet. Totally ready for a night at the beach.
Conscious of her wild curls, Mr. Bubble-stained jeans, bare feet, and unadorned face, she smiled. She was aware—painfully so—of a big wet spot on the center of her tie-dyed What’s Gnu? t-shirt, proof that she’d been washing dishes and splashed herself on display, but she smiled anyway.
No use acting as if she didn’t know she looked a mess.
“I’m running late.” Waving a hand down, indicating the dishevelment she couldn’t hide. “I’m sorry.”
“No big deal. What can I do to help?”
She motioned him inside. As he passed, she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Musk—sexy and masculine, it made her forget how crappy she looked. But—oh, she probably smelled of bubbles, powder and the chili pot she’d been scrubbing.
“Nothing, really. Except maybe give me ten minutes to pull myself together.” They headed for the kitchen. She had only been in Clarisse’s home for a few days, yet it seemed the natural place to go. The heart of the house. She filled the chili pot with hot water. When she went to lift it from the sink, Steve nudged her aside and picked up the heavy pot.
“Where?”
“On the stove. I’ll let it soak overnight.” She fitted the lid on the pot, then went and rinsed out the sink. “Can I get you anything? A beer? Soda?”
Steve sat at the kitchen table. Sienna left a Tom and Jerry coloring book open, crayons spread around it. He began to gather the crayons, sticking them back into the Crayola box one at a time. She noticed he put them in carefully, not damaging the points.
“Nothing, thanks.” He stopped, looking up with a smile. “Take your time. I may just color—that is, unless you think she’d mind.”
Annie grinned. “A coloring kind of guy, are you?”
He’d turned to a fresh picture and surveyed it with a practiced eye. “Nah. Oils are more my thing, but a man’s gotta be flexible. Crayola is the next best thing to the paintbrush.” He looked up. “I’ve got a niece and three nephews. I’ve got lots of coloring experience—but hey, don’t spread that around, okay?”
“Your secret’s safe with me. Sure I can’t get you something?”
Steve smiled, and it seemed the room got brighter. So calm in the face of chaos. He’d come looking for a woman ready to go on a date. Instead he’d found chili-splattered shirts, rioting crayons and Medusa-like hair. And he acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“No, thanks. I’m really fine. And don’t hurry. The ocean isn’t going anywhere. I’m in no rush, Annie. Let’s just take the night as it comes.”
“Sounds awesome. Let me get myself cleaned up, then we can head out. And if you change your mind—”
She was about to open the refrigerator and point out the offerings. He shook his head, waving her toward the door.
“Don’t worry about me. Believe me, I’ve been in Clarisse’s kitchen many, many times. I can find my way to a bottle of Coke if I get parched. Go on, take care of you. Let the rest of us hang for a while. It’s your time.”
She didn’t need to be told a second time. Letting the fridge door close, she turned and headed for upstairs. Where, hopefully, Sienna would be fast asleep. And Clarisse would be out of the tub. And, finally, she might shine up enough to feel more like a woman and less like a—
Annie stopped halfway up the stairs. It hit her that while she loved being Sienna’s mother, suddenly it didn’t feel like…well, like enough. All this time, she’d never wanted more than what she had. But now, with wet cotton sticking to her abdomen and her hair in complete disarray, she wanted. And it felt good.
Sighing, she headed for the bathroom. It was, fortunately, empty so she closed the door, stripped out of the messy clothes, and stepped beneath the hot shower spray.
Time for a transformation.
Time to move on. She hummed a bit of Santana’s Oye Como Va as she shampooed the scent of chili beans from her hair.
****
If she knew how much he’d wanted to lean down and kiss her when she’d opened the door, looking all warm and sexy with that big spot of water making her shirt stick to her like a second skin, she probably would have slammed the door in his face. He hid it, but it hadn’t been easy.
The woman did strange things to him, things he didn’t try to understand. There was no point, really. Just go with the flow had a nice, peaceful ring to it. And if there was anything the crazy world needed, it was peace.
Clarisse came into the room on bare feet. She looked like Mother Earth herself, in a rust-and-green flowing caftan. Hair held up on top of her head. Makeup free and looking as if the world couldn’t get much brighter than it was.
“Steve. I thought I heard the bell.”
He stood, then sat when she waved him down.
“Can I get you anything? A cold drink?”
She paused by the refrigerator, but he shook his head so she came to the table and sat in the empty seat beside him. Looking over at the page he’d nearly filled with color, she raised one eyebrow.
“Who knew? A Van Gogh in Lobster Cove? My, what a headline that will make for the morning paper!”
“Shh! It’s a secret.” He grinned, gave Tom cat’s tail a final bit of shading. Putting the crayons back in the box, he admitted, “I had these all put away, but I just couldn’t resist giving it a go. Not bad, if I do say so myself.”
They looked at the drawing. Tom, the big cat, stood on one side of a wall. Just beyond his sight Jerry, the mouse w
hose life the cat tried to make as miserable as possible, stood—a huge grin on his little face. Tom, hammer in hand and ready to smash the mouse when he ran out, had no idea a stick of dynamite was tied to his tail.
“Not bad for you. Not so good for the cat.” Clarisse pointed to a blank corner. “You should sign it. Tomorrow when Sienna sees it, she’ll know you were here.”
He chose a blue crayon and signed a corner of the paper with a flourish. Then, he added a sketch of a daisy beneath his name.
“Flower for the sweetie.”
“Yes, she is a sweet little girl.” Clarisse folded her hands on the table. “And her mother is sweet, as well. Apple trees make apples, you know.”
She was getting at something, that was clear. But rather than try to guess what the riddle meant, he waited. He’d learned with his own grandmother, who regularly played bingo with Clarisse down at the Community Center in the church basement, that when a woman of a certain age had something to say, it was generally best to let it be said in its own time. Probing only made for cryptic answers and confusion. Best to let things take their own course.
Still, a man had to respond when being stared down by the female in charge of the conversation.
“Yes, I suppose they do. Make apples, that is.”
He closed the coloring book. Placed the box of crayons on top of it. Folded his own hands on the table. Waited.
Not long, though. Upstairs, the sound of running water stopped.
Clarisse looked at him for a moment. She cleared her throat. “So you’re taking Annie out on your boat? Is that the plan?”
“It is. We can go swimming. Or night fishing. Or, we can just watch the moon and stars for a little bit. Whatever she wants,” he added. So far, so good. The answer earned him a tight nod.
“That sounds pleasant. Just make sure that woman doesn’t come home tonight as rattled as she did last night, Steve.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she hoisted a hand and looked away. “No, don’t say a word. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know anything. All I’m saying is, I want Annie and Sienna happy here. The woman who ran up the stairs last night—as if the hounds of hell were on her heels, mind you—wouldn’t convince anyone she was happy. Happy women don’t dash home from walks on the beach with men.”
