Melting Into You (Due South Book 2)

by Tracey Alvarez

  Kezia grabbed a pair of oven mitts and slid them on, determined to look busy and not as though her carefully constructed world had crumbled to ruins. If she ignored Ben, ignored the lump of dead muscle in her chest that once beat only for him, he’d leave.

  The door clicked shut, and silence settled in a smothering blanket over her kitchen. A log popped in the wood burner, and from the hallway, the faint trill of Julie Andrews singing about spoonfuls of sugar.

  She must make a decision.

  Take the job in Wellington and be close to Nicky and Matt, but live rudderless—a boat adrift without her Oban friends-who’d-become-family. Or stay here and squander her love on a man who clearly couldn’t, or wouldn’t, take the risk of loving her back.

  ***

  “I hope we never move back to Wellington.”

  Kezia froze in the act of placing the Harry Potter book on Zoe’s nightstand. She straightened, pulse racing.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Zoe’s gaze shot sideways, and she fussed with the duvet cover, smoothing it over her chest. “Just thinking about Jade being my best friend, and how much I love hiking the track in summer, and fishing with the Harlands…”

  “Zoe.”

  Her daughter sighed. “The DVD went funny, so I took it out to wipe it like you showed me. You left your e-mail open.”

  Merda! Had she? Kezia fisted a handful of her fluffy robe and squeezed. “Zoe Roberta Murphy, you know better than to look at someone’s private mail.”

  Zoe squirmed, tucking her chin to her chest. “I saw Mr. Thompson’s name and job opportunity in the message, and I couldn’t help it. Why do you want to teach at my old school again? Don’t you love living here too?”

  “I do, Zoe.” Her roots had burrowed deep into the Island’s rocky soil, and now she had no clue how to extricate them without carving out part of her heart. “But sometimes grown-ups have to make difficult decisions.”

  Zoe tried to sit up, winced, and slumped down. “Did you and Ben have a fight?”

  Kezia placed a hand on Zoe’s chest. “Don’t get all excited. Ben and I didn’t have a fight…”

  Zoe’s eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched up.

  Hell, she was a terrible liar. “Not exactly. Well yes, kind of.”

  “Can’t you make up and be friends again? That’s what you always tell me—‘just because you disagree, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends.’”

  If only their disagreement was a case of which pop star sang better, or what super-power topped all super-powers. Oh, sure, after time passed, the pain of loss might fade to a hollow ache. But did she want to witness Ben moving on to the next wave of single women descending on Oban during the high season?

  Hell. No.

  She mustered a smile. “It’s tricky.”

  “You can’t run away from stuff because it’s tricky.”

  This gem from the girl who forgot to clean out her lunch box every school day? Zoe couldn’t remember the simplest tasks sometimes yet regurgitated obscure pieces of maternal advice when it suited.

  “It’s not running away, we’d be making a fresh start. You’d be able to visit your uncles and grandparents more often too, wouldn’t that be nice?” Like visiting a doctor to get warts removed with liquid nitrogen.

  Zoe shook her head. “Grandfather’s always working, and Grandmother smells like the stinky stuff you clean the bathroom with. They don’t love me the way Gran, Shaye, and Ben do. Ben loves me best of all.”

  “Zoe...”

  “Well, he does.” Zoe’s lip quivered, and she stuck out her chin. “He didn’t even growl after I got sick and spewed on his bed. And he stayed with me on the ‘copter ride and every time I woke up during the night, he was holding my hand—except once he fell asleep with his face smooshed against my bed. Ben snored really loudly then.”

  Oh, Gesù. This time the breaking of her heart would be heard clear across the Foveaux Strait.

  Zoe placed her palms onto Kezia’s cheeks, a familiar gesture from when she was little and hooked up to beeping machines. “Mamma, I don’t want to live in Wellington again. Uncle Nicky and Uncle Matt can come here for a visit—and Grandfather and Grandmother too, if they want. Can’t we stay? Can’t you and Ben be friends again? Pretty, pretty please?”

  What had she said to Ben after he’d made the decision to keep Jade? You put her needs before your own wants. Welcome to parenthood. She wanted to run, wanted to protect the remaining slivers of her self-esteem. But Zoe…Zoe needed the family and community they’d found here.

  So for Zoe, she’d try.

  Kezia slid Zoe’s hands off her face and kissed them. She was strong enough now to not run again. She could do this—make a stand, broken heart and all. Because broken hearts would heal…eventually.

  She’d treat Ben the same way she treated any parent of Zoe’s friends—with polite cordiality. When his interest in her waned with lack of encouragement, she’d play ostrich, pretending not to hear the gossip about his latest conquests.

  “All right, cara. We’ll stay.”

  “And you and Ben can be friends again?”

  The best she hoped for was awkward acquaintances, but still…“Zoe, I promise my relationship with Ben won’t affect your friendship with Jade.”

  Zoe opened her mouth, then closed it as if she’d seen a warning not to push on Kezia’s face. “Okay. Kiss goodnight?”

  “Always.” She smooched Zoe’s cheek. “Ti voglio bene, Zoe.”

  “I love you too, Mamma.”

  I love you. Such simple words, but with the power to move mountains, to change everything.

  Kezia switched off the lamp and left her daughter’s room. Once again, it’d be the two of them against the world. They had more than enough amore to fill their little home. Zoe was all she needed, the only one she could depend on.

  Tears slid down her cheeks and dripped off her chin.

  Hell, she really was a terrible liar.

  ***

  Nothing goddamned worked.

  Ben sat at his usual table in the corner of Due South and considered—not sulked, as Piper suggested with a ruffle of his hair—but considered his options. He needed another plan, because his Campaign to Win Back Kezia sucked. Dammit.

  According to Shaye, the flowers left on Kezia’s doorstep were redistributed to local elderly women. No great surprise. At least she hadn’t put them through a tree chipper. She wouldn’t reply to text messages if they weren’t about play-dates or school. Also not unexpected.

  So he’d thought outside the box. He waited until he had a day off and pressure washed the grime off her house. Nothing. Then he spent an afternoon clearing decomposing stinky crap out of her gutters. Again, zilch. He split firewood, painted her fence, left the latest novel about some futuristic New York cop he knew she wanted on her doorstep—and he’d seen Caroline Russell reading it at the grocery store the next day.

  Nothing goddamned worked.

  He dropped Jade off at school and Kezia wouldn’t meet his eye. He wanted to ask her to a casual barbecue at the Komeke’s, but her icy politeness had him wimping out at the last second. He wasn’t a stalker, for Christ’s sake.

  But neither would he give up.

  He wanted her—needed her—was completely out of his frickin’ mind crazy in love with her. Couldn’t she see it? What else could he do to convince her? Bleed?

  And he did bleed for her, bled like a stuck pig from halfway across the bar as she sat with her book-club cronies. She faced away from him, her hair spilling over a light-brown dress he’d never seen her in before. She looked like toffee-wrapped sweetness, and God, did he want to sink his teeth into her warm, lush curves. And yeah, he was reduced to drooling from a distance.

  “Hey.”

  He looked up at Ford, who slouched by the table with his guitar slung over a shoulder.

  “Hey.” Ben dropped his gaze to his beer glass and stretched out his legs. How long had Ford stood observing Ben’s puppy-eyed, pathetic behavio
r?

  “Want company?”

  No. He wanted Kezia. But he grunted in assent.

  Ford hooked off his guitar and sat opposite. “Any change, bro?”

  The guys had given him hell about his wooing attempts at first, but they’d laid off once they, unlike him, had written her off as a lost cause. Ford and West were the only two who knew how crushed he was.

  Boo-hoo for him.

  He sipped his beer. “Nah.”

  “More flowers?”

  He set down his bottle. “You’ve watched too many chick-flicks. Flowers don’t work.”

  “You fucked up big time then.” Ford clicked his tongue.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Ouch.” Ford took a pull on his beer bottle. “Must be time for a new plan.”

  “Oh yeah, Mr. Romance. Any ideas?”

  “Something she doesn’t expect. Something to catch her off guard.”

  “I mowed her lawns, cleaned her gutters—”

  Ford snorted. “Shit man, even I could’ve predicted you’d do that. You gotta do something she’d never in a million years think Ben Harland would do.”

  “Cut out my heart and let her skewer it with a boot heel? ‘Cause that’s what it feels like she wants me to do.”

  “Aww. You’re such a hopeless romantic.”

  “Shut it.” Ben sipped beer and stared out the window at the white foam surging up the beach. What else could he try? He’d attempted to tell her he loved her—abysmal fail—but actions speak louder than words, right? His actions showed Jade he loved her. He’d made a complete dick of himself at the Manly Man of the Year contest to convince the kid he cared.

  Show her a dad who is strong, but also a guy who’ll be a little bit silly to make her smile, Kezia had told him.

  Ben sat up straighter. Was that it? Did he need to perform some grand, romantic gesture—AKA publicly humiliate himself—in order to win her back?

  Ford studied him through slitted eyes. “What’re you thinking?”

  “You singing tonight?” Ben glanced to the corner of the pub, where Ford and his dad would entertain the locals with their music.

  “Yeah, later.” His eyes popped and he jerked forward to punch Ben’s arm. “Player, man—Player! That’ll work.” He snatched up his guitar, mumbling about C major and B flat.

  Ben frowned. “What are you on about?”

  “Baby Come Back—it’s a classic grovel song, she’ll love it.”

  Ten seconds ago, singing in front of a crowded pub had sounded like the ultimate romantic gesture. Now, not so much. His throat dried up with nuh-uh tightness. “My voice isn’t great and I don’t think—”

  “Bollocks.” Ford strummed his guitar. “You’re not that bad. Don’t chicken out now.”

  “You could sing it, dedicate the song to her from me.”

  Ford’s eyes rolled so high, they nearly burst out through his dreadlocks. “It wouldn’t be the same and you know it. Do you want your woman back or not?”

  “Yes, but—” Ben squeezed his bottle. More than anything he wanted her in his life—every day, every night, every moment, and with no expiration date. “You’re right, let’s do it. Oh, hell, hope I can remember the lyrics.”

  Ford’s white teeth flashed in a sharp smile, and he slid his iPod across the table. “Listen to it while I set up. It’s make or break, Harland.”

  Ten minutes and another glass of beer to bolster his lack of courage later, Ben stood beside Ford with a microphone under his nose. An evilly grinning microphone, ready to magnify the sound of his humiliation.

  Ford nudged him in the ribs, but he could only stare at Kezia, her dark curls dancing as she shook her head, disagreeing with something Betsy Taylor said. So beautiful, she made stage-fright seem like a walk in the park if the alternative meant losing her forever.

  “Pretend it’s karaoke night,” Ford hissed. “I’ve heard you belt out Imagine like you’re John-bloody-Lennon.”

  “I’d had a few more beers then,” Ben snarled out of the corner of his mouth.

  Ford just looked at him.

  “Shit.” Ben tapped the microphone. “Hey everyone. If I could have your attention for a moment.”

  Umpteen pairs of eyes swiveled toward him, and the pub noise died down to glass clinks and a piercing whistle from some smart-ass, probably Piper. Heat scorched his ears, and he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets so the sweat coating his palms wouldn’t drip onto the microphone and electrocute him—though the thought of electrocution appealed at this point.

  Kezia, tellingly, kept her back toward him.

  “Uh, I know Ford normally entertains you, but before he does, I want to sing something for a special lady.”

  Hoots, hollers, and stamping of feet under tables.

  Holy crap, did he say “sing something for a special lady?” He sounded like a seventies lounge lizard. Too late to chicken out now; Ford strummed the opening bars.

  Ben opened his mouth and nothing came out.

  Zip. Nada.

  Like someone had stuffed fiberglass down his throat. He closed his eyes against the wall of faces and pictured Kezia, tucked beneath him as he pressed his lips to hers. He heard her smoky laugh, felt her fingers drift over his bare skin and stroke through his hair.

  Ben opened his mouth again. This time, his heart found a voice and dragged it into the open with his soul attached.

  Every person in the room faded to a blurry mass as he sang, leaving Kezia spotlighted in her chair. He sang about being wrong and being unable to live without her, as if he’d been the one to pen the lyrics. He worked the song like goddamned performance poetry, so invested in the emotion pouring through him that the ripples disturbing the crowd barely registered.

  Until Kezia got up and walked out of Due South.

  That, he registered.

  Ben ducked around the mic and threaded through the tables toward the exit, ignoring the smattering of applause.

  “Ben!” West stepped out from behind the bar and body blocked him. “Let her go.”

  His jaw clenched. “No, I bloody well won’t.”

  “Don’t make me kick your ass, Harland. You’ve already made a helluva scene.” West gripped his arm. “Come into to my office, and I’ll buy you a beer.”

  Ben wrenched away, his blood pressure spiking. “I don’t want another beer, West, and I don’t need a fucking pep-talk. I’m going after Kez.”

  “If you go after her in this state, you’ll screw up any chance you might have left.”

  “I’m not drunk, asshole.”

  “Not that sort of state. Do yourself a favor and get your righteously un-drunk self to my office. Take fifteen minutes to cool off.”

  He glowered, but West didn’t balk. Ben was bigger, but West was demon fast with a mean left hook. Much as he’d love to work off the frustration, pounding on his best mate wouldn’t help.

  Yeah, okay, maybe he had intended going all Neanderthal on Kezia and dragging her to his house. The idea had merit, since Shaye was already at Kezia’s place minding the girls on their weekend sleepover. But, damn. West was right—and it irked. Going after Kezia full of hurt and temper wouldn’t end well.

  “Trust me. Fifteen minutes,” West said.

  With gossip spreading like an airborne plague, hiding out in West’s office seemed practical. Until, at least, he could come up with plan B. As his mate, John Lennon, once said, “Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”

  Ben turned and stalked through the whispers and speculation to West’s office, slamming the door behind him.

  He and Kezia hadn’t reached the end, not while he was still breathing.

  Chapter 19

  Kezia limped inside her darkened house. She stripped off her ruined pantyhose and removed a pellet of gravel from her foot. Desperate to get far away from Ben, she’d kicked off her high-heeled boots on the road outside Due South and speed-walked home by the tiny light on her keychain.

  Floorboar
ds creaked under her bare toes as she dumped the pantyhose into the trash can and walked into the kitchen. The clock ticked loud enough to echo in the house’s stillness, but no muffled giggles came from the hallway. Shaye must’ve gotten the girls to bed early, and please God, let Shaye be snuggled up in her room with her Kindle.

  The kitchen lights blazed to life, and Kezia flung up a forearm. Maledizione!

  “Welcome home, Cinderella,” Shaye said.

  Her friend leaned against the wall, fingers tapping an impatient beat on her biceps. Hard to take someone seriously with a towel-turbaned head and a fuzzy yellow robe, but Shaye managed to look both furious and mafia-deadly.

  “Why did you run away from him, Kez?”

  “Oh. You heard.” She’d forgotten about Piper’s presence at Due South. And if Piper hadn’t texted her sister, there were half-a-pub of other locals willing to broadcast her embarrassment and disguise it as concern.

  “Everyone has by now.”

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  Kezia glanced at the bright rectangles thrown out of the kitchen window onto the front porch. Light streaming out of her house would be a beacon for Ben to come and convince her to be his regular booty call. She jerked the drapes shut. Better. Less obvious, anyway.

  “You’re embarrassed?” Shaye moved away from the wall and sat at the dining table. “What about Ben?”

  Ben. Who knew the man could actually sing? And to sing in front of a pub full of people, it must’ve been excruciating for him. When his voice swept over her like rough silk, her limbs had melted. He’d meant every word about wanting her back, and so, she couldn’t bear to look at him. She’d chosen to run rather than face the danger of falling into his arms.

  “He’ll get over it.” Kezia leaned against the counter, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Even thinking about his voice caused goose pimples to pebble her skin.

  “Ben sang his guts out telling you he loved you, and you walked away. He will not get over it—and he won’t get over you.”

  “He didn’t tell me he loved me…then, or ever.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Are you kidding me?” Shaye unwound the towel and shoved her fingers through her hair. “It’s obvious to anyone with a few brain cells to bang together that Ben is big-time in love with you.”