“What are you looking at?”
The cat lifted his pointy chin and exited as quietly as he’d appeared.
Tucker made his way toward the office. He had a bed to move and a room to vacuum.
Harbormaster: Growing up, I thought my sister and I would always be together. After all, we’d been in the womb together, shared everything all our lives. We grew up and went our separate ways, though we remain close. And one day I know I’ll be married and my wife will be everything to me—even closer than a twin sister.
Chapter Ten
The next week Tucker was relieved that he’d successfully removed the cat dander. Sabrina didn’t sneeze once all week.
That was the good news. The bad news was his plan wasn’t progressing as quickly as he’d like, and he was running out of time. Sabrina was working through the emails all too fast. Maybe if they did something together. Something that didn’t involve computers and lists. Something that would force her from her comfort zone and put them face-to-face.
But he’d already taken her out on his boat, and what had come of that? Nothing.
It was time to raise the stakes. He wandered into his office and sat where Sabrina had been an hour earlier. He picked up the tablet with her notes. She was careful, including only innocuous details that were so broad as to be useless, or things he’d already listed.
Can’t whistle
Takes a daily walk
Likes her steak well-done
Reads mysteries
Has an aversion to bees
He smiled at that one. Sabrina had been stung on the eyelid when she was five and had been terrified of bees since.
Imagine a chicken flapping her wings and running in circles, and you have an accurate picture of me in the presence of a bee. Not rational, I know, but I can’t seem to help it. I once spilled a glass of fruit punch all over my cousin’s favorite pashmina scarf in my hysteria.
He opened the email program and checked his inbox. It was empty. She wasn’t writing as often as she had before she’d started working for him. But then, she had less time. He missed her. How could he miss someone who sat right next to him? Because the Sabrina he loved was honest and vulnerable, but the Sabrina who worked for him wasn’t sharing that part of herself yet. He missed that intimacy.
He opened a blank email and started a letter. Right now he didn’t want to trick her or corner her, he didn’t want to manipulate her. He just wanted to talk with her.
I miss you, Sweetpea. Work’s been hectic, but you must be busy too.
I took in a friend’s cat last week. Yeah, I know, I’m a glutton for punishment. The thing did not like me. I have several scratches to prove it.
Read any good books lately? I got another novel at the library, but couldn’t make it past page twenty. You can’t say I didn’t try. I’ll leave the fiction to you and stick with the newspaper.
Tucker paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to say so much more. I miss you. Even when you’re here, I miss you.Why won’t you open yourself to the possibility of us? Every time you’re near me, I want to touch you. But if I did that, I’d scare you away. You’re like a doe in a field, so beautiful and proud and strong. But at the slightest hint of danger, off you go. What are you so afraid of?
Tucker scowled at his thoughts. He couldn’t say any of that. He’d nearly scared her off for good when he’d mentioned meeting in the first place, and he wasn’t going to risk losing his only contact with her after she finished this job. Or rather, failed at finishing this job. He knew that was the plan, and it frustrated him, but that’s what he deserved for backing her into a corner.
Did I do the wrong thing, God?
It was too late for that question, wasn’t it? But it was never too late to ask for help. He whispered a quick prayer, then sent the email.
He wondered if she was home. Maybe she’d get his message and reply. It had been a while since their last exchange.
The house was quiet except for the hum of the dishwasher. He’d offered Sabrina a slice of the roast he’d slow-cooked that day, but she’d turned it down as always. He wondered if he could convince Sabrina to stay for dinner after she finished. He could cook while she worked, maybe grill a couple steaks on the deck, serve her the corn he knew she wouldn’t eat, couldn’t eat, ever since she’d gotten sick on it in the seventh grade.
He fantasized about sharing a candlelit meal on the water with a salted breeze ruffling her hair. Sure, she wore it scraped back in that ponytail, but it was his fantasy; he could imagine her hair down if he wanted.
If only they could have a normal date. The kind where he picked her up and took her someplace quiet, where she could let down her guard and let him in a little. But he couldn’t ask Sabrina out. She knew he was in love with Sweetpea, and he wasn’t supposed to know she and Sabrina were one and the same. How would it look to her if he put the moves on her?
Well, you’ve got yourself a quandary, don’t you?
The computer chimed as a message appeared in his inbox. Sabrina.
I can’t believe you took in a cat. That’s above and beyond.
I haven’t had time to read lately, but am hoping to get back into a good book soon. I still think you need to keep trying until you find what you like. There’s a genre for everyone. I haven’t given up on you. ....
I got a wedding invitation from Jared and my cousin.
That was the end of her message. His thoughts spun like a whirlpool. How had the news affected her? Was she still pining for Jared? She hadn’t seemed upset at the café or at his house.
He replied, hoping she hadn’t left.
I’m sorry. When?
Less than a minute later, her response arrived.
About a month ago. :/
A month ago? He’d wanted to know when the wedding was, but she must mean it had been a month since she’d received the invitation. And she was just now telling him? It must’ve hurt if she hadn’t told him sooner. And if it hurt, maybe she still loved Jared. Tucker was hurt now too. Hurt that she still had feelings for Jared and that she hadn’t confided in him sooner. He poised his hands over the keyboard and typed.
When’s the wedding? I really am sorry. ..
At least she was telling him now. What did she need from him? He wished he could do more than type a few words of encouragement. He wanted to hunt Jared down and beat him to a pulp, but that’s probably not what she needed from him. He wished that he could at least wrap his arms around her and tell her he loved her, that Jared didn’t deserve her anyway.
Another email arrived.
Twenty-second of August.
He typed a response,
Are you doing okay? Want to talk about it?
A few moments later another message arrived.
No, thanks. I’m coping. Just wanted to tell you.
’Cause I could beat him up, if you want, he replied, then sat back, waiting for her response. It arrived seconds later.
Tucker grinned. He wondered if her family had given her any warning. But she didn’t want to talk about it, so he refrained from asking. Instead, he asked the obvious question.
Are you going?
He pushed Send.
Before he could lean back, she replied,
Going where? :-P
He smiled.
To the wedding, goofball.
No.
When the sinking sensation hit his gut, he realized he’d been hoping she’d go. To avoid the wedding meant she was still angry with her cousin. And if she was angry with her cousin, she still had feelings for Jared, didn’t she?
Coward. Just ask.
Before he could stop himself, he typed the words.
Do you still love him?
After he hit Send, regrets of all sizes and shapes crowded into the room. What if she did? She still wore that infernal bracelet, and he was sure it was a gift from Jared. Why would she still wear it if
she was over him? He considered writing back. Never mind, he’d say. But before he could act on the thought, another message appeared. Maybe he should delete it without reading.
Who was he kidding? He wanted to know. Needed to know. He felt sick as he opened the email.
Why do you ask?
Well, duh. Wasn’t it obvious he had feelings for her? Maybe he’d never come out and said he loved her—she might think it was weird or pathetic.
Why didn’t you answer my question?
He tapped his fingers on the keys, waiting. It had been over a year since she’d seen Jared. Could you love someone that long from a distance? Could you even be certain of your feelings?
A new message arrived.
My aunt and uncle seem to have given up on reaching me. Part of me is relieved, but I admit the victory feels a little hollow.
She was changing the subject. Not a good sign. He replied,
Maybe they haven’t given up. They’re probably distracted by the wedding.
He hated the loneliness her words implied. She knew he was there for her, didn’t she? A message appeared.
Maybe.
And no, I don’t love Jared.
Relief filled him. If she didn’t love Jared, there was room in her heart for him, wasn’t there? Feeling renewed, he changed the subject to current news events, secure in the knowledge that, while her heart may not fully belong to him, it didn’t belong to someone else either.
Sweetpea: I got the name Sweetpea from my mom. I don’t remember much about her, but she was always working in our garden. I can still hear the soothing sound of her voice as she whispered “Goodnight, Sweetpea” from my bedroom door.
Chapter Eleven
A week later Sabrina was grabbing her bag from the kitchen counter when she noticed the blinking light. Checking the time, she decided she could spare an extra minute before leaving for Tucker’s. Char had been queasy when Sabrina left the café. Maybe Gordon needed her to finish Char’s shift. Truth was, she’d welcome the opportunity to avoid Tucker.
The stress was eating her alive. Sitting there, pretending to work, desperate to escape before she did something stupid, like grabbing the man and kissing him full on the mouth. One of these days, her facade was going crack wide open and she’d find herself chin deep in a pit of humiliation.
She pushed the machine’s button and listened.
“Hey, Sabrina! It’s Arielle. I left a message last week, but you didn’t return my call. A-hem! But my feelings aren’t hurt. Really. Not hurt at all.Anyway, call me back, okay? For real this time. I’ll keep pestering you until you do. You know I will . . . Bye!”
Sabrina deleted the message and headed out the door. She wouldn’t return this message either. And yes, her cousin would continue leaving messages and sending emails. Sabrina knew what Arielle wanted, and her cousin wasn’t getting it.
She pushed up the kickstand, hopped on her bike, and began pedaling down the lane. The incident with Jared and Jaylee had drawn a line between Sabrina and her family. And Arielle stood on the line, trying to pull everyone to the middle. Arielle had always been the mediator, but never had her job been so impossible. Maybe that skill served her well in class, but they weren’t three-year-olds fighting over a canister of red Play-Doh. Sometimes there was no good resolution.
When she reached town, she stopped to let pedestrians cross. Town was packed when the summer people arrived. She couldn’t fathom having a vacation home and six free weeks to spend at it. If she did, she would put up a hammock on her back porch and read all day. But the summer people seemed to prefer sunning at the beach, spending money in the boutiques, and being waited on in the restaurants. Sabrina would rather learn to cook her own gourmet food. But what was the point when she was only feeding one?
Two black Labs were leashed to the bench outside the Even Keel Cafe, and a little girl stopped to pet them. Her parents nudged her along; then her dad swooped her into his arms, and the girl wrapped herself around him. The mom laughed at something the girl said. They looked like the all-American family.
Had she ever had that? Her mom had died of ovarian cancer when Sabrina was five. All she had of her mother were a few foggy memories and a handful of photos. Her dad had seemed like a ghost in the house after her mom died, and then he was gone too.
A horn blared, and she saw that the pedestrians had cleared. She pressed on the pedal and accelerated through town, passing the quaint shops and milling tourists, the wheels of her bike bumping along the cobblestone streets.
When she arrived at Tucker’s house, Cody was sitting on his porch, reading a book.
“Hey, Sabrina.”
“Hi, Cody.” She stopped by Tucker’s stoop, swung her leg around, then set the kickstand with the toe of her tennis shoe.
“Invitation for dinner’s still good. We’re grilling chicken fajitas, and my buddy Ron is making his famous homemade salsa.”
Tucker was at the door, on the stoop really, glaring in Cody’s general direction. “She’s working tonight.”
Sabrina tossed Cody a smile of consolation, though by the cocky look he was giving Tucker, he didn’t need it. “Guess I’m on the clock,” she said.
Tucker followed her to the office. The house didn’t smell like supper as it often did, but maybe he’d been in a hurry and had grabbed takeout. Instead of savory scents, she relished the familiar woodsy fragrance of his cologne.
“You should be nicer to the tourists,” she said. “It’s good for the island economy.”
“What am I, the welcome committee?”
Sabrina shrugged, then, settled at the desk, checked her notepad to see where she’d left off.
“How far along are you in terms of the emails?” Tucker asked from the doorway.
She opened the program and compared the date of the one she’d last read with the date of their first letters. “About five months from the time you began writing.”
The tablet with her notes was open on the desk, so she started with the next email, hoping Tucker would leave.
“I was thinking we could have another brainstorming session. I have some steaks that I need to cook. How about I grill and we can have dinner while we chat? We can eat out by the water.”
A working supper. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she’d already eaten. But she’d been in a rush after staying a few extra minutes to help Evan bus tables and hadn’t had time. The last thing she wanted was to sit face-to-face with Tucker. She’d rather be next door with Cody and company.
That’s not true, and you know it.
Truth be told, Tucker was just tempting. To know him so well and pretend as if she didn’t . . . to care so much and pretend as if she didn’t. It was too hard. She needed to get through these letters faster.
“Sabrina?”
If he wanted to use the time to brainstorm, who was she to argue? He was paying for her time.
“That’s fine.” She could do this. She’d done it on the boat; she could manage supper alone with him. All alone, on the tiny, secluded square of his deck.
“Great. How do you like your steak?”
She started to say well-done. But she’d put that on the Sweetpea list a few weeks ago. Plenty of people liked their steaks well-done, but the fewer similarities between her and Sweetpea, the better.
“Medium well,” she said, grimacing on the inside. The thought of pink meat nauseated her.
“Give me half an hour?”
“Sure.”
With that, he was gone, allowing Sabrina to work. Now she had a supper and an uncooked steak to endure. She wondered how she was going to control herself and her wayward thoughts through a romantic supper for two.
Shaking the thought, she delved into the next batch of messages. They were full of banal tidbits, so she noted the details on the sheet. How could she sidetrack him later? Sweetpea had made few comments regarding her residence, but now Sabrina had no way of misleading him.
She settled back in the chair and opened the next ema
il. She remembered receiving the original message, and her heart tripped at the memory. They’d been exchanging emails late one night about mundane things, joking around, and then he’d sent this message:
Do you ever think about meeting in person?
She’d frozen in response to the words. What should she say? She had to answer. He was waiting.
Not really, she typed, and sent the message. Would he press her further? What would she say if he asked more about where she lived?
Why not?
Fear curled inside her, thick and hot. Her fingers poked at the keys.
What’s with the twenty questions?
Her mouth was as dry as the sand at Jetties Beach. She didn’t have to wait long for his reply.
I really want to meet you.
And there it was. Tossed out like a water bomb from a second-story window, and just as unrescindable.
Suddenly their correspondence didn’t seem safe at all. It felt immediate and threatening. Like waking from a dream to find it was real after all. Her heart knocking against her rib cage, she’d closed the message, closed the program.
The next morning a message had been waiting in her inbox.
I’m sorry if I overstepped a boundary. Let’s forget I said that, okay?
He changed the topic, telling her about a customer who’d been terrified of the water. Sabrina had been relieved at his change of heart, and he hadn’t mentioned meeting again until months later.
“Dinner’s ready.” Tucker leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, as if he’d been there a while. She’d been so absorbed in the emails, she hadn’t heard him. So much for remaining detached.
Shaking the remnants of trepidation, Sabrina followed Tucker down the hall and out the sliding door. Three stairs led down to a water-level porch where a plank deck nestled against the back of his house. A wooden railing was the only barrier between them and the boat-dotted harbor.
He gestured toward the round wicker table, set for two. A terra-cotta pot with a cluster of purple pansies graced its center.
“I hope you like iced tea,” he said after they were seated.
“That’s fine.” A steaming baked potato accompanied the steak. And beside it, corn. Her stomach turned. She retrieved her fork and knife and cut into the steak, then felt like a heel when he bowed his head in prayer.
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