Copper Creek: A Sawyer's Ferry Novel

by Cate Ashwood

  “Ready to go?”

  “Yep. Gage was just getting started with the weekend chores, and I needed to get the fuck out of there before he roped me into washing floors. You came at just the right time.”

  “I brought coffee.”

  “I’m in love with you.”

  If I’d been drinking the coffee at that moment, I would have spat it all over Gage’s front lawn, but Frankie didn’t seem fazed, just pranced himself to the truck and climbed in. He was buckled and sitting tall before I’d even had a chance to sit down. He looked like a prince with oversized sunglasses on, waiting for his coachman.

  I started the engine, and Frankie reached for one of the cups.

  “Not that one,” I said. “That one’s black. The other one has enough sugar in it you could make a spoon stand up.”

  “Just how I like it.”

  “I know. We’ve gone through twice as much sugar at the coffee station since you started at Copper Creek.”

  “This is good. And just what I needed. Mighta had a shot too many last night.” He hummed happily as he took another sip, settling down into the seat, wiggling his ass a little as he set the coffee back down. “You gonna tell me where we’re going yet?”

  I shook my head. “You’ll see when we get there.”

  “Is it far?”

  “’Bout half an hour outta town. Won’t take too long.”

  He reached forward and turned the radio on, the station crackling for a second before the music became clear. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frankie make a face before turning the knob.

  “Unfortunately, when it comes to the radio in Sawyer’s Ferry, you only have two choices. On or off.”

  “I don’t know how anyone lives in this godawful place.”

  “It has its benefits.”

  “No decent radio stations, no Wi-Fi hotspots, no Starbucks, no Sephora, nothing open on Sundays. There’s snow on the ground nine months out of the year—”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven,” he repeated, as though that was somehow worse than nine. “I’m just not seeing a lot of benefits.”

  “I dunno.” I suddenly couldn’t think of any reason I’d ever wanted to stay. “It’s a nice place to grow up.”

  “If you’re into that backwoods, middle-of-nowhere, pop-up horror movie set thing. But if it were me, I think I would have gotten the hell outta Dodge as quick as I could have.”

  The words were bordering on insulting, but there was a lilt to the way he spoke that made the insults endearing rather than offensive.

  “A good chunk of the population does.”

  “But not you? You grew up here, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why’d you stay?”

  “I almost left…”

  Frankie leaned in closer. “And?”

  “And I didn’t.”

  He sat back, his body angled toward me as he leaned on the door and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s more to that story.”

  “I guess.”

  “And you’re not going to tell me?”

  Sipping my coffee, I considered my answer. “It’s not important.”

  “You’re full of secrets today, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “You know I’m gonna get it out of you. You might as well tell me now and save us both the trouble.”

  I sighed, because he was probably right. “My wife moved to LA to pursue a singing career, and I was set to go with her.”

  “Excuse me? Your wife?”

  “Yeah. Ex-wife now.”

  “Ex-wife,” he repeated to himself. “What happened?”

  “She’s crazy talented, and that talent was stifled here. She had an opportunity to work with some great songwriters in LA, and she took it.”

  “No, I mean what happened that you didn’t go with her?”

  It had been ages since I’d opened up the box of memories on this part of my life. For months after Naomi left, I’d wondered if I made the right decision, but now, years later, I’d come to terms with it, and yeah, it had been the right call.

  “At the time, it was a gut reaction. We’d packed everything up. All our shit was in boxes. The movers were coming, and I had my plane ticket. When it came time to put my shoes on and walk out the door, I couldn’t do it.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. Not a lot of people understood. I didn’t even really understand, but Sawyer’s Ferry is my home, I guess. I can’t see myself living anywhere else.”

  “Even for love?”

  “Even for that.” I heard the click of Frankie’s camera, and I whipped my head toward him, unaware he’d even brought it. I felt kind of raw, having this conversation. I was grateful that I could shift my concentration back to the road, to focus on keeping us between the lines, rather than the way Frankie was looking at me.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Did she take you to the cleaners in the divorce?”

  “No. That’s not Naomi. We stayed married for a few years, talked on the phone, visited when we could. I think she was hoping I’d change my mind one day, and as horrible as this is to admit, I think I was hoping her music career would fizzle out and she’d move back home.”

  “Apparently neither of those things happened.”

  “No. We grew apart and by the time I filed for divorce she’d met someone else.” This definitely hadn’t been the direction I thought the day would go. We were onto the heavy topics and we’d been on the road less than twenty minutes. “What about you?”

  “I’ve never had a wife,” Frankie deadpanned.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Swear on my mother’s future grave. Never been married. No kids. Never really saw the appeal of girls at all, to be honest.”

  “Their skin is so soft… they smell so good.”

  “My skin is softer than a baby’s butt cheek, and I smell damn good.” I didn’t know who he was trying to convince, because both those things were certainly true. I wished they weren’t, but he made an excellent point. “Those attributes are not reserved only for females.”

  “You’re right.”

  “And I’m willing to bet I’m better at sucking cock than any woman in this town.”

  My coffee was long gone, but I coughed, choking on absolutely nothing. “I wouldn’t know,” I said once I’d composed myself.

  “But I bet you could make an educated guess.”

  I didn’t respond, and the time stretched out silently between us as I drove. Frankie seemed to sense how uncomfortable I was, and thankfully, he didn’t push it any further.

  Finally, we’d reached our destination.

  I climbed out of the truck, pulling a breath of fresh air deep into my lungs. When I finally looked over at Frankie, I realized he’d already walked away from the vehicle and was standing at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the windswept waves below.

  As I approached, I heard the rapid click of his camera as he captured every second of a huge swell crashing into the ragged shore. Water sprayed so high in the air in front of us, the wind carried it, mist hitting our faces.

  “This is incredible,” Frankie breathed with all the reverence I’d felt for this place the first time I’d been here.

  “You haven’t seen the best part yet.”

  He turned and snapped another shot of me before slowly lowering his camera.

  “Show me.”

  I led Frankie down a curved path, and as we rounded the corner, the reason we were there popped into view. Frankie’s pace increased until we were almost running toward the little white lighthouse perched on the craggy hill.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “It’s pretty good, right? It’s called Peregrine Point.”

  Frankie sighed. “It’s perfect.”

  “The house has a kitchen perfect for food prep, and there’s plenty of space on the lawn for those huge tents everyone has at weddings.” I pointed. “The aisle could go over there, and the sea with the lighthouse off
to the side would be the perfect backdrop.”

  Frankie faced me, looking incredulous. “Do you plan weddings as a side gig? Or?”

  “My parents got married here. Dad’s best friend was the caretaker until he retired a decade or so ago. His daughter lives here now.” I started toward the building. “C’mon. I’ll show you inside.”

  Frankie jogged to catch up to me. “Can you do that?”

  “I’m not gonna go into Phoebe’s house, but the lighthouse she opens to the public whenever someone’s interested enough to come down.”

  “What public?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I’ve probably been the only one to stop by since she took over.”

  “You come here a lot?”

  “No. Every couple of years, maybe. I like to visit every once in a while. Makes me feel grounded.”

  I pulled the door open and held it for Frankie to walk through, smiling as I heard him gasp.

  Frankie

  As soon as I stepped inside that lighthouse, I felt like I’d stepped into someplace built with magic. The hardwood floors were inlaid with a nautical star in contrasting-color wood and the walls were a crisp white. All the trim was painted out in black, the same as the exterior of the building, but the juxtaposition inside made my imagination take off, images of sailors taking refuge in a storm filling my brain.

  There was a rounded bench that sat against the wall beneath a couple of hooks, and a small table with flowers. But the most beautiful part of the inside was the wooden staircase that led up in a spiral.

  “This is amazing.”

  “I thought you might like it. It’s over a hundred years old, but it’s held up well.”

  “It’s held up beautifully.”

  I snapped a couple of photos, wanting to document everything. I couldn’t wait to tell Holden about this place. It was hands down the most romantic place I’d ever been, and I’d been to the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day.

  “Can we go up?” I asked, standing in the center of the room and tilting my head back to see the view all the way to the top of the tower. I took a picture of that too.

  “Anything you want.”

  “Let’s go.”

  I headed to the stairs, taking an experimental step onto the first one, waiting for it to bow or creak under my weight, but it held steady. I went up a couple more steps, taking them slowly, partly because I wanted to squeeze this experience for all it was worth, and partly because the stairs were narrow, and I was just clumsy enough that I’d take a wrong step and be the first person to die at the hands of this lighthouse.

  Barrett was right behind me, close enough that every once in a while, our hands brushed as we grabbed the railing. I was overcome with a sudden rush, this feeling of absolute safety with Barrett being right there. It was warm and comforting and reassuring, and I shoved it away as fast as I could.

  This whole day, from the pickup to the bonding in the car, to the romance of the lighthouse—it felt like a date. The best one I’d ever been on. And thinking like that was bound to lead me places I didn’t want to go.

  I reminded myself that being with me was the last thing Barrett wanted. He’d made that excessively apparent over the last week. The message had been clear, but the medium was becoming a little muddy, and in a situation like this, with elements of our relationship turning out to be so fucking confusing, I needed to remind myself that although it might seem confusing, it was actually incredibly simple.

  Barrett didn’t want me. And even if he did, he didn’t want to want me, which was essentially the same thing.

  He was a nice guy who was helping me out with Holden’s wedding. He was my boss. He wasn’t interested in being with a man. And I was leaving soon.

  By the time we reached the landing, I was huffing and puffing.

  I faced Barrett, who was still on the stairs. The top of his head was eye level for me, and looking down at that tree of a man was a new experience.

  His hair looked soft, and I clenched my hands into fists to keep myself from running my fingers through it. I shifted my focus to the small space I was standing in. The white walls from downstairs had faded as we’d climbed and now we were surrounded by exposed brick, with aged wood above and below. On the opposite wall, there was a ladder.

  “Where does that go?”

  “To the actual light part of the lighthouse.” He took the final three steps and once again towered over me. “This is the door to outside.”

  He brushed past me and grasped the handle, turning and pulling the door toward him. Light streamed into the dim space, and the sounds of the ocean were amplified. I followed him out onto the circular catwalk that surrounded the exterior of the lighthouse and immediately lost the ability to talk, which might have been a first for me.

  The view, for lack of a better word, was breathtaking. I’d seen shots like this on posters and in my photography blogs, but to see it in real life, with the entire sensory experience, was a different thing altogether.

  Straight ahead, I could see miles and miles of open ocean. Islands dotted the distance between me and the blue horizon. Seagulls, the shit-hawks of the sea, had always seemed mangy and diseased back in New York, scamming french fries off tourists and scavenging garbage cans for scraps. But here, they were graceful and elegant as they glided through the air, riding the gusts of wind coming up from the cliffs below.

  “Pretty spectacular, huh?” Barrett said.

  “It’s amazing.” I closed my eyes and held on to the railing as the salt-crusted breeze kissed my face. I inhaled, pulling the scent of the sea deep into my lungs and holding it there, like it might heal all the broken parts of me.

  I opened my eyes to find Barrett watching me so intensely I was breathless all over again.

  He stepped closer, crowding me against the railing. I had the open ocean at my back and a wall of man at my front. I swallowed hard, my brain scrambling to make sense of the situation.

  Barrett lifted his hand, brushing one of my curls to the side, his fingers lingering to twist the hair loosely around his knuckle. I stood, struck dumb as he combed his fingers through my hair. The sensation of it sparked shivers down my spine, and when he tightened his grip, tugging my head back to look at him, I whimpered.

  In that moment, Barrett owned me, and even if he hadn’t had such a tight hold on me, I couldn’t have moved. I might never move again.

  He leaned in closer.

  “Barrett,” I whispered.

  “Hmm.”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “What’s that?” His voice made me tremble.

  “I don’t think you’re straight.”

  He slowly lifted one eyebrow. “Frankie?” he whispered.

  “Hmm.”

  “Shut up.”

  The air between us sizzled with tension as he tightened his grip and leaned forward and gently nudged my nose with his. I tilted my head, begging him to kiss me. My whole body was lit up, every cell aware of him. I’d never been so desperate for anything.

  He brushed his lips against mine, not a kiss, just a simple touch, and I was going insane. He chuckled softly, his breath ghosting against my mouth I wanted to kick him or scream. He was torturing me, and I hated it, but at the same time, I didn’t want it to stop.

  Finally, when I was right on the precipice of dying in his arms, he closed the last of the space and kissed me.

  For real.

  The slow-playing Barrett of a moment before was gone, and left in his place was a man who knew how to kiss, who took what he wanted. It was consuming and dizzying and so fucking good my knees almost gave out.

  Between the course scrape of his beard against my skin, the tight grip of his hands on me, and the demandingness of his mouth on mine, I was fucking putty in his hands.

  He spun me, pressing me against the rough brick, his hand braced on the window frame. I slid my hands into his hair, holding on to him, drawing out the kiss like it was the only thing tethering me to earth.
<
br />   Too soon, he pulled back, and instead of regret, this time I saw fire.

  “Let’s go.” The words held so much promise, I shivered.

  “Yeah. Go.”

  Clearly, I wasn’t able to form coherent sentences. Walking was an issue too. My erection was trapped inside my jeans, and for the first time in my life, I wished they were baggier. This guy was really messing with my head if I was willing to compromise my fashion ethics for comfort, but my jeans were cutting off circulation to my balls.

  I followed Barrett down the steps, one hand on his shoulder to make sure I didn’t fall. If I went, he was going too, and now that we’d gotten this far, I could not die without knowing what sex with Barrett was like.

  If he fucked the way he kissed, that might actually kill me, but I’d die happy.

  We managed to make it to the truck before he touched me again. He unlocked the door with the fob from twenty yards away and by the time we go there, I was so desperate to have his hands on me, that when he reached for the door handle, I pulled him to face me, wrapped my arms around his neck, and jumped.

  He grunted as he took my full weight, spinning me around and pinning me to the side of the truck. I kissed him with too much desperation, too much need, but I was beyond caring.

  The weeks of dancing around each other, of pretending that we didn’t want to rip each other’s clothes off—well, Barrett’s pretending—was too fucking much.

  I was done.

  I wanted him, and I wanted him to know it.

  Everything happened in slow motion. He planted one hand under my ass and reached with the other for the door handle. After hauling it open, he sat, rocking me in his lap, stroking his tongue against mine.

  The breeze from the ocean caressed my superheated skin, making me shiver against him. My body was on fire, and there were way too many clothes on us. I wanted to strip him down, to take my time exploring, finding all the spots that made him squirm, but we were in the middle of a parking lot, and although there was no one else around, anyone could have driven up at any moment.

  I should have broken the kiss, pulled back, put some space between us, but logic was overruled by base desires. Getting naked in a parking lot was out, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get at the parts I wanted to touch the most.