by Julia London
“Eh,” Lorenzo said. “This is good for him. This is how he…what is this word…griefs.”
“Grieves,” she muttered. “I feel so bad for him.”
“Anh,” Lorenzo said with a shrug. “The man was dumped. These things happen.”
“I know. But I don’t like them to happen to people I…” For once, Jenny actually thought about what she was about to say, and decided against admitting she had feelings for him.
“Aha,” Lorenzo said, nodding sagely. “You like him, our Eddy.”
“No I don’t,” she scoffed.
“Ach, don’t deny this. It has distorted your face.”
So much for not saying anything—apparently her distorted face did her talking. “Of course I like him. He’s a nice man, and he seems lonely.” She tried to appear nonchalant about it by biting into her sandwich. But judging by the way Lorenzo’s hands went to his hips, she’d failed.
“Why did you not tell me this?” he demanded.
Jenny looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I hardly know you, Lorenzo. I’m not going to admit everything in my head just because you did.”
“Vaffanculo, we are friends! Is it not my friend who has helped me make things better with Elizabetta? Here, see what she says,” he said, waving his phone at her.
Jenny groaned. She took the phone from him, squinting at the cramped writing. Speaking Italian was quite a lot easier than reading it. She didn’t understand all what Elizabetta had typed in her shorthand Italian, but she gathered that Elizabetta had seen some promise in Lorenzo’s apology. And she wrote that she would like to speak to Lorenzo in person with the hope of patching things together.
Jenny was about 75 percent sure that’s what the email said. “Well this is fantastic,” she said. “You should ask her to come here to meet.”
“Here!” Lorenzo said with some disdain. “Lake Haven, it is good for fishing. But not for true amore.”
“You’re wrong, my friend. It’s perfect,” Jenny said, and handed the phone back to him. “There are no distractions here. No girlfriends to whisper in her ear. It’s just you and her and the world as God gave it to us. No social media, no phones—”
Lorenzo gasped and grabbed her arm. “Si,” he said. “Yes, this is brillante, Jenny Turner. It is the only way. She must come here to me.” He took a few steps away from her, one hand on top of his head, obviously thinking through the idea.
Jenny took another bite of her sandwich, her gaze finding Edan again. He was holding a pole now, his line cast. Fishing was such a solitary occupation.
“Now then, I will help you,” Lorenzo announced.
Jenny’s heart skipped. She looked up to see Lorenzo’s smile of determination. “Umm…no thank you.”
“No, I will not accept this. I know how a man’s heart is won.”
“That’s great—but I’m not trying to win his heart,” Jenny said, panicking a little. “I only want to be his friend.”
“Friend! Men and women were not meant to be friends, Jenny Turner. There is only one way to bring him to you—you must make him jealous.”
“No!” she exclaimed, horrified. “He’s going back to his fiancée. Whatever you may think about it, he believes there’s still a chance.”
“Big mistake,” Lorenzo said. “He mourns her yet. But mourning, it does not last forever. Loss lasts forever, but not grieves.”
“Grief.”
“What I mean, little peach, is that life goes on. But there are times that this life, it needs a bit of a push.”
“Absolutely not,” Jenny said, shaking her head, startled that Lorenzo had said the same thing her father had said all those years ago when her mother had died. He’d nudged her, all right, sending her off to school. Life goes on, he’d said. He’d been wrong about that at the time, because life didn’t go on so easily, and to pretend it did had caused her to distrust her father.
She shook her head again. “I’m not going to bother him—”
“Bother? You will not bother him—he will want your more than air.”
“No he won’t—”
“Come,” Lorenzo commanded.
“I don’t want to.”
Lorenzo bent over and took the sandwich from her hand and tossed it aside.
“Hey!”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet, and with his thumb, knocked a crumb off her lip. He tilted his head to one side, studying her. He pulled her hair down from the top of her head, fluffed her bangs, and frowned a little. “It must do.”
“Thanks a lot,” Jenny snorted.
“Now then, we go.”
“Lorenzo!” she cried as he gave her a sharp tug and made her march along with him down to the water’s edge where Edan was fishing. “I don’t want to do this!”
“Edan, my friend!” Lorenzo said, ignoring her. “You must show Jenny Turner how to do this fish.”
Edan glanced over his shoulder at them, his gaze flicking over Jenny.
“You must teach her to cast the line,” Lorenzo said loudly.
“Would you no’ like to do it yourself, mate?” Edan asked, turning his attention back to his line.
Lorenzo nudged Jenny and winked at her. “Me? I am a fisherman, Eddy, not a teacher of children.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Jenny said as Lorenzo gave her a solid push toward Edan. Lorenzo dipped down to pick up a fishing rod, gave her a conspiratorial wink, then walked down the bank, away from them.
Jenny glanced at Edan. His expression was not what she would call warm and welcoming. He looked annoyed. “If you’re to learn, you’ll need to come here, to the water. You canna fish from the road.”
“That’s a slight exaggeration,” she said. “I’m nowhere near the road.”
“Aye, and you’re nowhere near the lake.”
“Fine,” Jenny said. She picked her way over rocks and brush to the lake’s edge.
“Well,” Edan said.
“Well,” Jenny repeated.
“Have you ever fished?”
“For a few compliments here and there, but never for an actual fish.” She laughed at her jest.
“Mmm,” he said. “Come on, then,” he said, gesturing to the bank.
Jenny gingerly made her way closer.
“See the grasses there?” he asked, pointing with his tanned arm. “The larger fish will feed there. They are close to the shore here, aye? Fish are skittish, they are—donna talk and scare them off, aye?”
“Got it,” she said. She wouldn’t speak. She wouldn’t move. She would catch her stupid fish and get out and let the poor man have his privacy.
His expression softened. “Aye, come on, then,” he said, and held out his hand to her. Jenny slipped her hand into his. It felt warm and strong, and her heart fluttered a tiny bit. She allowed him to maneuver her to stand in front of him, which entailed some wobbling over rocks and brushing against the full length of him to avoid going into the lake before finding her footing. She was standing so close that she could feel his warmth at her back, the firm breadth of his chest. He put the rod in her hand, showed her how to work the reel, and then, holding her hand in his, showed her how to take the rod back and release the line.
“You want a bit of a rhythm before you cast, aye?” he said softly, and helped her draw her arm back and forth a few times before releasing the line. It sailed through the air and landed silently in the water.
“Nothing is happening,” she whispered.
“Give it a wee bit,” he said low into her ear, his breath warm on her cheek.
They stood, waiting.
“Maybe they know it’s fake,” she murmured. “I mean think about it—they’ve probably seen that same green and yellow thing a dozen times and they know that it always—”
Jenny was silenced when Edan put his hand over her mouth and whispered, “Wheesht.”
She didn’t know what that word meant, but it swept through her on a delightful little shiver. She decided he could say it to her whenever he lik
ed.
Unfortunately, her silence did not result in a nibble. Edan helped her reel the line in, his body hard against her back, his arms strong around her. He helped her to cast again. And again.
The silence was killing her. Thoughts were churning in her head—more apologies for kissing him. Empathy for the way his engagement had ended. Questions about his life, his likes, his dislikes, his favorite TV show. Of her general tendency to rush in to things, like people’s lives, like a bull in the proverbial china shop, and how she didn’t want to do that and make everything worse.
“Remember the rhythm,” he said, helping her to move her arm again.
Oh, she remembered it, all right. She remembered all sorts of rhythms and doubted she would ever forget this silent lesson. They threw the line and waited, one of his hands on her hip, the other covering her hand on the pole. “Quite a good cast, that was,” he said.
“Really?”
“Aye. You could be a bloody good fisherman.”
“I think I could learn to like it,” she said. “I never really gave it a shot. I’m actually pretty bad about that, you know? Sometimes I don’t give things—like jobs, for example—a real shot. And you know what else I do?” she said, a little frantically, all at once desperate to apologize for being so insensitive. “I assume things. I assumed that—”
“You’re talking,” he softly reminded her. “Donna scare them off.”
“I’m sorry!” she suddenly blurted.
“It’s all right, no harm done—”
“I’m such an idiot, kissing you in your kitchen like that and then telling you to get out more and talking about how lonely you are. I had no right.”
“Jenny—”
“Even worse, I know what it’s like to lose someone. Not exactly like you, but my mother died when I was ten. And I know how insensitive people can be about loss, because I feel like I’ve lost my father, but he’s alive, and he’s happy, and no one really gets it. But I do, and I never thought I’d be insensitive. I’m mortified that I—”
He suddenly cupped her chin and forced her head around to look at him. “Jesus, lass, it’s all right. You’ve no’ offended me. I am no’ so tender I canna withstand a verra pleasant kiss from a verra bonny lass.”
A lovely little shiver ran down her spine. “Okay, then,” she said softly. “I mean, since you said I was bonny.”
He pointed to her line. “Best keep your eyes out there.”
Jenny glanced back at the sliver of line floating across the water. She didn’t know what else to say to him. What more could possibly be said?
At that very moment, something jerked her line.
“I think you’ve got something, aye?” Edan said. His body surrounded hers, his arms shadowing hers, his chest, his legs, his groin, all pressed against hers in an effort to reel in whatever she’d caught. “Slowly, very slowly. Easy,” he urged her.
“Ohmigod, it’s a fish,” she said, astonished that she’d caught anything.
“Donna get ahead of yourself, now. We’ve no’ seen it—might very well be an old tire.”
“Really?”
“No, no’ really,” he said, grinning. “Come on, then, don’t give any slack.”
“She has one?” It was Lorenzo, somewhere behind them.
“I have one!” Jenny said excitedly.
“Slow,” Edan warned her and, impossibly, shifted closer so that she was now smashed up against the full length of him. His head was just over her shoulder, his cheek brushing hers as he helped her reel it in. Her heart was pounding; she felt floaty and unsteady on her feet as she tried to do as he said and bring the fish in, while trying to ignore the sensation of every place they touched.
Lorenzo suddenly moved past her, splashing into the water and pulling up the line. At the end of it, a fish about six inches long was struggling.
“Huh,” Jenny said. “That’s it? I thought it was huge.”
She could feel Edan’s chuckle reverberating through him before he let her go.
“There’s your supper,” Lorenzo said.
“No, put it back,” Jenny said.
Edan and Lorenzo exchanged a look.
“I can’t eat him!” she exclaimed. “This is the same as catching one of those feral chickens under the Hollywood freeway. Everyone wants to catch them, but no one really wants to eat them.”
The two men stared at her.
“Wait…you’ve never heard of the Hollywood chickens?”
Lorenzo sighed and handed the fish to Edan. Edan was smiling at Jenny. Actually smiling.
“The fishing, it is good,” Lorenzo said. “Now, you come and give me your luck, no?” He stepped out of the lake and extended his hand for Jenny.
But she didn’t want to leave. She wanted to fish with Edan. But Lorenzo had ruined the moment—Edan moved away from her to the water to cut the fish free.
“Come with me, Jenny Turner,” Lorenzo said cheerfully, and threw his arm around her shoulders, giving her a hard squeeze before he forced her to march along with him once more.
He pulled her up onto the path that went around the lake and moved away from Edan. “That was so rude,” she said.
“Si, very rude,” Lorenzo blithely agreed. “And it will make this man crazy with want.”
“I don’t want to do that!” Jenny said, pushing away from Lorenzo.
“Don’t be ridiculous. All the women want to make all the men crazy with want,” he said, and winked at her.
Well. Maybe they did just a little. “Shut up,” she said, and glanced back at Edan. He was casting his line again. He looked relaxed. In the zone. He did not look crazy with want. He looked quite content.
Jenny was the one who was crazy with want. She could still feel his body at her back, could still feel his breath on her cheek. She was falling. Tumbling, actually, cartwheeling down a hill for a Scottish guy she ought to leave the hell alone.
Twelve
There was so much work to be done to close the inn, and Edan was terribly busy. Certainly too busy to concern himself with the coming and going of Jenny and that fucking Italian, as he’d come to think of Lorenzo. And yet, against his better judgment and true nature, Edan found ways to interrupt them. When he found them in the lounge bent over that blasted computer, he’d walked in and announced the internet service would be down for the afternoon.
“But this email is very important,” Lorenzo pleaded with him, his palms together in a prayer pose.
“Sorry, lad. Canna be helped,” Edan said, and had returned to his office and pulled the plug on the Wi-Fi.
When he saw them strolling along the road like lovers in springtime, he found reason to put himself in Hugh’s motorized mule and drive up to disrupt them. Jenny laughed brightly when he honked his horn and startled Lorenzo so badly that he jumped two feet in the air. “What is the reason for this horn!” Lorenzo demanded.
“To move dawdlers along,” Edan said. “Looks like rain,” he added, squinting up at the sky. “Shall I take you back to the inn?” He made certain that Jenny rode next to him, and Lorenzo in the cage in back.
And still he couldn’t stop them. They are constantly whispering to each other and smiling. What could they possibly have to say to one another? They’d known each other for a whole of four days.
Edan realized, of course, that he’d somehow turned himself into a tragic mess. That kiss had taken on a life of its own in his head. As had the feel of her supple body against his.
He hated who he’d become these last few days. He hated that he was clinging to this idea of Audra who, really, when he thought about it, had shown him nothing but animosity in the last year. Oh sure, there had been sex and the dinners together, and quiet evenings—but there had always been an underlying current. And Edan was loyal to a fault, and he believed some things were worth fighting for, and he’d tried to make things right for her, tried to make Lake Haven up to her.
He should have known she’d hate this life. Audra had wanted a city, to be out o
f the Highlands. On his frequent trips home, Edan had convinced her and himself that she would be happy at Lake Haven.
She wasn’t happy. It was Scotland all over again, except in America—too remote, too far from life.
He was distracted by these thoughts one particularly sunny morning as he went out of the office to deliver paychecks. In the kitchen, he apparently was not responding appropriately to Rosalyn. She sighed and said, “You should take a few days off, Eddy. Go off and fish somewhere. You’re overworked, aye?”
“Is that your subtle way of telling me you want me to leave your kitchen?”
“No. If I wanted you out of the kitchen I’d bloody well say it. I say it because you’ve been such a bear. I donna think you really want to close the inn.”
Edan scowled as he handed her a paycheck. He walked out without a word because Rosalyn was right—he was disgusted with the world, feeling very uneasy in his skin, as if his parts weren’t fitting together properly. He’d lost his center in the last week.
Ah, well, it would be over soon enough. Jenny had booked room 215 for another week after he’d pressed her. She’d be leaving, as would Lorenzo, as would the Pettimores. The last guests for the Cassian Inn.
His infatuation would fade when he got on a plane bound for Scotland.
If anything, that thought made him feel even more restless.
He stalked down to the farmhouse Ned and Sandra shared with his restlessness and foul mood and their paychecks. He entered the kitchen through the mudroom as he always did—and stopped midstride.
“Well, good morning!” Jenny said. She was up to her elbows in a mixing bowl and there was a splotch of flour on her cheek. She was wearing a dress, covered by Sandra’s familiar apron, embroidered with a band of thistle around the edges.
It took a moment for Edan to make sense of what he was seeing and to check in with reality, and all the grand talk of how the infatuation would fade was smashed with a sledgehammer. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Making nut balls.” She said it as if it were perfectly reasonable that she’d somehow found her way into Sandra’s house and kitchen.
