Tides of Hope: It's Never Too Late For Second Chances (A Nantucket Island Romance Book 1)

by Dawn Tomasko

  His face flushed, which Sara found utterly charming. "I like kids.” Gabriel looked up at the sign hanging above their heads. "The Salty Dog?"

  "One of my favorites."

  "I love the name. Makes me think of walking in here during whaling times, packed with all sorts of pirates, seamen, captains and barmaids,” he looked down at her, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

  Sara bumped her hip into his and laughed. “Come on, sailor I’ll buy you a drink.”

  They descended the stairs, which led to the dining room below street level. Once the hostess seated them in the restaurant, Gabriel ordered iced tea, and Sara chose ice water with lemon. "I've always loved this place. A little treasure tucked away in the heart of Town. But I have to tell you, it wasn’t here during whaling times."

  "Sure looks like it. The menu looks great,” he remarked. "Unique choices.” After the waitress took their order and delivered cold drinks, he folded his hands together on the table. His wind tossed hair made her itch to run her fingers through it. The dark slash of his brows over those dark blue eyes made a stunning combination. Every day the sun deepened the color of his skin. Sara thought she’d never tire of looking at him. Women stared at him wherever they went. What the hell was he doing with her? But right now, the ever-present smile was missing.

  "That’s a serious look for you,” she observed, wondered what thoughts ran through his mind.

  "Can I ask some questions about what we talked about on the beach?” He studied her intently.

  Apprehension slid through her. Her pulse kicked up a notch, and she cleared her throat. Sooner or later, she'd known he would want to dig deeper. Talking about the past always made long suppressed emotions bob to the surface and threaten her calm. Sara usually avoided it at all costs. With Gabriel, she wanted to try. "Okay."

  "Where's your mother now?"

  In an unconsciously protective posture, Sara leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "When I was in my late twenties she passed away from cancer."

  His expression softened. "I'm sorry."

  "We tolerated one another surprisingly well once I left home. After she died, I struggled for a long time.” Her knee bounced under the table.

  "With what?” he asked and took a long drink of iced tea.

  Sara's shoulders rose as if to shrug, but they didn't go back down. "Issues between us needed resolution, and I got stuck holding the bag. I wanted answers. Because of her illness and her unwillingness to work things through, I lost the chance to get them."

  He leaned forward, elbows on the scarred wood table. "If she lived, if you fought it out, you might have been able to get answers and even have a more meaningful relationship."

  "Yes, and I wanted it if it was even possible. But it couldn't be, and Gabriel,” she looked up at him, "–it pissed me off."

  He gave her an empathetic look. "Understandable."

  Sara toyed with the hem of her shirt. "She did live to see Bree. Mom loved her madly, in fact, spoiled her rotten. I never understood how she couldn't love me the way I needed, but could love Bree so much.”

  "Think about it. She didn't have to be responsible for her. If you shower a kid with attention and gifts, they feel special. How hard is that?"

  As if she'd run a half mile, her heart thumped in her chest. "It's easy to love someone like that, and when you spoil them, they adore you. You can kiss them goodbye, and they go home with their parents, where the real work happens."

  "Exactly,” he nodded. "My parents have a stable marriage. Dad's a good provider, a decent man. Mom raised us, did the hard work with Michael and me because he worked so many hours. He worked most Saturdays and Sundays from home."

  The waitress came with hot wings and blue cheese. "Can we have a stack of napkins?” Gabriel requested.

  After the napkins arrived, he plied her with more questions. "You told me what happened with you and David and how Brianna blames you. What you didn't say is what you plan to do about it. Other than wait it out."

  As her belly turned sour, she shredded her napkin. "We talk on the phone regularly. She knows she's welcome here, and I want to work on our issues. Apparently, David now has a girlfriend and let Bree know about her. The other day he called Bree to say she moved in because I told him he should tell her before Bree showed up on the doorstep for summer break."

  "He doesn't want her to be disappointed in him,” he stated flatly, then licked hot sauce from his thumb. "But it's okay if she's disappointed in you."

  "True."

  "How do you feel about his new relationship?"

  Sara thought for a moment. Her breaths came faster, and her fingers twisted her napkin. "I hope it's true."

  Gabriel's eyebrows slammed together. His eyes kept darting from her face to the restless movements she made. "You doubt it?"

  She raised her eyes to his. "David didn't want a divorce. He threatened to get back at me for leaving. The last thing he said to me when I packed my stuff into my car still haunts me."

  Gabriel took one of her hands to still them. "You’ve killed the napkin, baby. What did he say?"

  The seconds stretched out and still she held his gaze. Hot tears stung her eyes. "He said, 'This isn't over. No matter where you go, you belong to me'."

  Gabriel swore. "Are you afraid out here?"

  Against her will, her lips quivered. "I lay in bed at night, at the end of the lane, in the house I chose, deliberately far away from everyone. You know how dark it is here, without street lights. I can hear the water, the birds. Sometimes, when I'm awake in the middle of the night, there are other noises. Animals? The wind? Are the shutters banging? Or is David making good on his promise?” Sara shook her head. "Yes, Gabriel, I'm afraid."

  “Fuck, no.” His dark head shook back and forth. "No one, and I mean no one, will lay a hand on you. Not while I'm around. Do you understand me, Sara?"

  "Yes,” she whispered, relief flooding her system so fast she felt a little sick. “Yes, Gabriel."

  Having someone mad and protective on her behalf validated her, in a way she never experienced before. "Brianna and David need to work on their relationship. That part's their business. But she needs to talk to me, too. Talk, and be prepared to listen. Brianna is eighteen, and I can't make her do anything. Right now, she's stonewalled me, and I'm waiting for her to bend."

  "This could be a long siege, Sara.” Gabriel shook his head, clearly frustrated. "I'm not a parent, and I don't judge the situation, but I don't know how you find the patience. His unwillingness to put up a united front caused your relationship with her to go on the skids. I know it’s not my place to say, but he could have handled this a hell of a lot better. I think it would kill me."

  Sara rubbed the heel of her hand over the center of her chest. "That's what it feels like a lot of the time. It’s as if you've lost a limb, some major piece of yourself. I fell in love with her the second I knew she existed. The bigger my belly grew, the happier I was,” she smiled in memory. "My hands would rub over the baby, and I talked to her, prayed for her."

  Sara shifted in her chair. "I loved to feed her, hold her, and give her a bath. Sometimes, I'd get up in the middle of the night to watch her sleep. Breathe. She liked to sleep on her side, one little hand fisted by her cheek. Tons of silky hair, like goose down, and fat, pink cheeks. Our relationship is different now, as it should be, but I trust the love we have, what we built together. We'll find a way. She knows I'm not going anywhere, and I'll always be in her corner."

  "How could she fail to realize? You're a strong woman, a top-notch mom.” He watched her, pride and admiration in his eyes and she knew how badly he wanted to help.

  "I try."

  A look of displeasure came over his features. "You try? No. You are. It is what it is."

  "That’s kind of you. I appreciate your confidence in me,” she replied without conviction.

  "You don't believe me, do you?” he asked harshly, a crease formed between his eyebrows. "Where’s your confidence? Bec
ause of your mother, and the marriage, you don't know how to give yourself the credit you deserve. Do you give yourself kudos for anything?”

  "You don't understand, Gabriel,” she pinched her lips together, squirmed in discomfort over his firm, nearly harsh tone. "It's difficult.” Now Gabriel seemed angry, and her traditional role of Miss Fix It didn't know what to do about it.

  "You need to tell her what happened. She needs to know all of it, the marriage, the growing up years and how it affects you to this day. She might understand better. I suspect in your desire to shelter her, you might be underestimating her capacity to understand."

  "You're probably right.” Since tension vibrated between them, she might as well go for broke. "Gabriel, I need to tell you something else. Something I didn't say to you when I had the chance."

  Gabriel sat back, took a deep drink of his tea, and then gave a short nod. The taut expression on his face made her breath come faster. A jumble of different emotions battered her, leaving her twisted up inside.

  "Go ahead."

  The waiter appeared, took the appetizer dishes and returned with their lunches. Gabriel's plate held a cheeseburger, spiral fries, and coleslaw. Sara chose a fish burrito and fresh coleslaw.

  Sara picked up her fork, picked at the tines with a finger. Gabriel didn't start his lunch but waited in silence. Eager to try it when she ordered, the sight of the fish burrito now made her stomach roll.

  Just say it, Sara. Don’t be a damned coward. The fork clattered to the table. "Do you remember our dinner at the Lobster Trap when I became upset?” The words came out in a rush.

  "Yes, I remember,” he murmured, his expression not as harsh now that she opened up to him. Leaning forward, he kept his gaze on hers.

  "More than upset?”

  "More than upset,” he agreed.

  Finally, she looked in those gorgeous blue eyes, both afraid and eager to hear his answer. "What did you think?"

  Gabriel looked at Sara’s forlorn expression while empathy flooded his heart. A river of strength ran through her, but at times like this, she seemed vulnerable. Those violet eyes searched his. Did she know how beautiful she was? How everything in him screamed to shield her, protect her. Luminous and liquid, her expression told him all. She anticipated censure, judgment, or criticism. Things she expected and came to know as normal. She wouldn't find those in him. He also saw hope. Hope that he would see her, know the truth, and not want to run. His heart held only caring and fondness for her, he had to be honest with himself, something more.

  Taking a risk, he'd pushed her to see what would happen. It hadn't been easy when all he wanted was to pull her onto his lap and comfort her. He reached across the table, laid his hand over hers. "You got lost in your head, you rubbed at your chest. You shook, and couldn't catch your breath.” Nearly the same now, but he didn’t say it. "Your eyes…it took a long time for you to feel calm again.” Gabriel let that sink in, rubbed his thumb in her palm. "An anxiety attack."

  “Right.” Sara bit her lips, her mouth pinched and white at the corners. "What do you think of me because I reacted that way?"

  He tilted his head to the side, searched his heart to know what she needed to hear. "Think of you? I think a great deal of you, but anxiety doesn't come into play. I think events in your life hurt you more than you can put words to or want to admit. You married David, whether consciously or not, for a safety net. Who wouldn't, after what you survived? You created the life you craved and your daughter is an integral part of it."

  When the tears hovering in her eyes spilled over, his gut wrenched. Her kind heart and bone-deep goodness pulled at him like nothing ever in his life.

  "The situation with your daughter is harder because of the effort you've put into your relationship with her. If you can make her happy, it'll make you happy. You need it, a sort of redemption. As if by that relationship, you can heal yourself. The rift between you is uncharted ground. The divorce seems to have helped you. But this thing with Brianna is like the rug's been pulled out from under you."

  Sara closed her eyes briefly. "You should have been a psychiatrist. In my fantasies about motherhood, I believed if I showered love on my child it would be okay. It would be enough,” she told him, her voice raspy and raw. "But it's not. There's so much more to it than love. You understand me better than anyone ever has."

  He sensed she had more to say in the way she hesitated. With each new revelation and Gabriel’s unconditional acceptance, she took courage. He could see it build in her.

  "I take pills for anxiety."

  An image flashed in his memory, the way she clutched at her purse on the bench by the docks. He'd thought she wanted her phone or the picture of Brianna she'd shown him. Now he knew. She’d needed pills.

  "Okay."

  A confused frown formed between her eyes. "That's it?"

  Gabriel kissed the back of her hand. “Yeah, baby that’s it. Lots of people need to take them."

  "You don't find that wrong?” Again, her hands moved restlessly, toying with the tablecloth.

  He snagged her fingers with his. "Not if it helps you. Haven't you had patients who take similar medications?"

  "Yes, of course, but that’s different."

  "How is it different? Did you think any less of them?"

  She thought about it for a few seconds. "No. Things bother me, things I can't control. These things run through my mind, and they're the reason I have difficulty sleeping. So I take the pills, even though I hate them because they quiet my mind. I want to throw them away, but I can't bring myself to do it. Part of my plan is to quit while I'm here."

  Gabriel took a deep breath, released it slowly. Instinctively he knew he must take great care in his response. "Good plan, if it's the right time. When you're ready to stop, you'll know."

  Some of the tension in her face eased. "I've taken fewer of them these last weeks. That's a start. But if Bree and I talk on the phone, if she pushes hard and we argue, I lose ground. If David calls, forget about it."

  Gabriel picked up her hand, leaned down and kissed the backs of her fingers again. "Sara, honey, I think you should take it one minute at a time, and try to roll with the ups and downs without guilt over the pills, or Brianna. I know it’s easy for me to say. I don’t think you should rush it."

  He could tell she struggled to believe him. "David didn't understand. He didn't like the pills and said things to hurt and embarrass me, and I felt defective. He knew I took them, but I only did it when he couldn't see, in places like the bathroom, in my car. Like a criminal, or a kid sneaking alcohol. I feel stupid for telling you."

  What a bastard. Sara made excuses for David, sympathized with him, but at the bottom of it, he treated her like shit. "Don't. I won't ever make you feel that way."

  At last, the worry and strain leeched from her. The hand fisted on her chest rested on her lap. Her shoulders relaxed and slowly moved down to a more natural position. "Maybe I can believe that."

  "Good, because it’s true. I’ll always be honest with you.” He gave her hand a final squeeze.

  "Gabriel.” She waited for him to look at her. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome.” Then his stomach growled, loudly. They laughed, the somber mood broken. He picked up his burger, took a bite, grunted in pleasure.

  “You eat like a linebacker.”

  Mouth full, he tossed her a grin. "I've loved spending today with you. If you don't mind after this, let's head back to the cottage. How about we camp out on the beach, grab a blanket, and we’ll drink some wine? Watch the sunset."

  With much relief and no small amount of satisfaction, he watched as she picked up her fork to eat.

  Gabriel used his hands to dig a trench in the sand, far enough from the surf so their cozy nest wouldn't get flooded. After he laid out a blanket in the trench, they settled in, leaned back on the sand.

  "This is comfy as a recliner,” she grinned at him, legs crossed at the ankles. Then she turned back toward the water. "Look at those colors,
” she lifted a hand to the sky. "Orange, pink, blue…all stretched out like paint on a canvas. I love it here."

  When Gabriel's arm came around her, she scooted closer to lay her head on his shoulder. As he kissed the top of her head, she skimmed her hand over his chest. Unable to resist she let her hand wander over the hills and planes of hard muscle.

  “I like when you touch me.”

  “You have a great body.”

  Gabriel pulled back to look at her with an expression of pure male smugness. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Trust me, angel. Alone at night, I dream about yours. Now, should we get naked or just drink wine?”

  Flushed and flustered, Sara choked on a laugh. “Umm...for now, let’s drink wine.” How would he react if she spoke her thoughts? Yes, let’s get naked, now. I’m dying to run my hands over every hard plane of the body I watch every minute and follow along with my mouth to taste you.

  “Bummer. Here you go,” he murmured, handed her a little bottle of white wine. With a twist of his wrist, he unscrewed the cap.

  "Thanks,” she said, sipped at the refreshing, crisp wine, and pressed her thighs together to ease the growing ache. "Delicious. What are you having?"

  "Cabernet."

  "Gabriel?” Change the subject, idiot, before you jump the man and embarrass yourself.

  "Yeah,” he rubbed his cheek against her hair.

  "Will you tell me about Michael?"

  His body stiffened along the length of hers.

  "Now?” The brittle quality of his voice raised the downy hairs on the back of her neck. "That's not at all what I had in mind for tonight."

  "Of course, you don’t have to,” she told him, rubbed her hand over his chest soothingly, amazed she felt comfortable doing so. "But I shared my story with you. You've told me a bit about your relationship with your brother."

  The pounding surf nearly muted the sound of his sigh. He tilted his head up to the darkening sky. "I don't like to talk about it."

  When she sat up abruptly, his arm fell away from her shoulders. "I know you don’t, and I respect your feelings. But I trusted you with my story. You thanked me for having that confidence. If you don't believe in me —"