Love on a Spring Morning

by Zoe York

  “I survived.” He shrugged. It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was more than she had a right to. She unscrewed the water bottle cap and took a sip, then another, rocking side to side to keep her legs warm.

  “You gonna keep going?” He tipped his head at the stop sign, and she realized he must have watched her complete at least one climb. Watched her jump and high five the sign.

  And in that moment—the dawning recognition of one lonely person being watched by another—she said screw it to the last fifteen minutes of her workout, and shook her head. “Nope, I’m good.”

  “Are you in training for something?”

  Being eternally beautiful was a stupid answer. It was the truth, but also futile and ridiculous, and not something she wanted to admit to this man. She didn’t know much about him, but she instinctively understood two things: he wouldn’t have a lot of time for stupidity, and he wasn’t shallow. So she went with a different truth. “I run marathons.”

  “Yeah?” He shifted over a bit on the step.

  She moved closer. “Only one or two a year, depending on my schedule.”

  “I had to run every morning for PT when I was on basic training, and I hated it. I can slog my way through 5k if I have to, but give me a heavy kit bag and a rifle for a ruck march any day of the week.”

  “You were in the military?”

  He nodded. “Still am. Reserves now.”

  “That’s amazing. Anyone who wears a uniform is doing a good thing.” Holly stopped a few feet away from him. Leave him alone, she told herself, but the warning didn’t carry nearly as much weight as the warm feeling in her middle that got hotter and sweeter the closer she got.

  He was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt tonight, the sleeves pushed up past his elbows despite the cool of the night air. Heavy muscles corded his forearms and she wanted to reach out and stroke the golden light brown hair covering his skin.

  Down, girl. Do not pet your neighbour’s arms.

  “You want to sit?”

  She jerked her gaze up to his face, and the inscrutable look there. “Um, sure.” She smiled as she joined him on the step. As her bottom hit the wood, she realized she was almost close enough to touch him, but her body wouldn’t listen when her brain told her to shift over. “You do this a lot, sit out here and have a drink? It’s nice.”

  He hunched up a bit, leaning forward. “It was a long winter inside, I guess. Just me and the kids. As soon as the snow melted, I started coming out here after they went to bed.”

  “This is the first winter…you’ve been on your own with them?” She asked it slowly and carefully. Trying not to pry, but not wanting to ignore the bit that he’d shared, either.

  He just nodded, a short, terse jab of his chin.

  “It’s nice out here.” She turned her face up to the sky. “Lots of stars.”

  “I hated the quiet at first.” He scuffed his heel on the lower step as he braced his hands behind him, joining her in looking up. His upper arm brushed hers, leaving a lingering warmth as they talked.

  “You’re not from here?”

  “Nope. I was a city kid. Married the country girl. Never thought I’d end up loving it here.”

  “I love getting away,” she said quietly, still counting stars. “I spend most of my time in L.A. and New York. Last year I went to Sundance and I almost—” She cut herself off. She’d almost bought a ranch. “I thought about moving there. It was beautiful.”

  “Sundance, eh?”

  She shrugged. “I took my mother. That was a mistake.”

  He laughed. “Drama there?”

  “As long as I can remember, I’ve been the parent in the relationship.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. And I can’t say no. So she came and tried to snare a movie star husband.”

  He gawked at her for a minute. “Just like that?”

  Well, it wouldn’t have been the first time. “My mother’s incredibly beautiful and used to getting what she wants.”

  “Ah.” He looked up and down her face for a moment before changing the subject—in the wrong direction. “It’s gotta be fun, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous.”

  Uhh… “Less fun than you might think.”

  He laughed. “Well, constantly dealing with those Hollywood types sounds like hell to me, but I’m more private than most people.”

  So awkward. “Am I not one of those Hollywood types?”

  With a small laugh, he glanced her way with an unexpectedly soft expression on his face. “Sorry.”

  But something danced in his eyes, something that told her he wasn’t sorry in the least.

  She slapped lightly at his arm, trying not to notice the solid mass of his biceps or the warmth emanating from beneath his thin shirt. “Well, I guess I am, so that’s fair.”

  “You’re not so bad,” he said, his lips turning up in the slightest of smirks.

  God, she wanted to stay and see more of that smile, but if she stayed, she’d keep touching him and that would lead to nothing but trouble. She bumped his shoulder once more, because how could she not, then stood. Reluctantly. “Well, thanks for the water. I’m off to bed.”

  “Come back again some time, this was fun.” He raised his hands when she cocked her eyebrows at him. “What can I say? I don’t have much of a life.”

  She could feel her smile transform her entire face. “Me either, so I think I will.”

  — —

  The next morning, after the boys got on the bus and Ryan dropped Maya at preschool, he headed up the peninsula to Tobermory, where he’d arranged to meet Faith at the Tim Horton’s coffee shop.

  He parked his truck in a long row of trucks and headed inside. Scanning the room, he quickly found a petite woman with honey-brown hair, pulled back in a loose ponytail, watching the door, and she waved as soon as his gaze landed on her. His first impression was that she was young—his counsellor had said they were about the same age. These days, Ryan felt ancient, but this woman practically glowed with happiness and youthful vitality. She offered him a big, friendly smile.

  “Are you Ryan?” she asked, standing and holding out her hand. She wore a t-shirt that said FRESH MILK right over her breasts, and ripped jeans. The tiny diamond stud in her nose was…different. Definitely not what he expected.

  “I am.” He returned her firm handshake, then gestured to the counter. “Do you want a coffee?”

  “Sure. I’ll come with you.”

  She left her backpack at their table, just grabbing her wallet from the big pocket.

  “I can get the coffees,” he said, but she just waved him off.

  “It’s okay. I’ll get us this time, and that way you’ll feel obligated to talk to me again, and next time you can pay. Deal?”

  “That’s sneaky.”

  “I’m a mom. I hide veggies in chocolate muffins. Sneaky is my middle name.”

  He laughed at that, and was surprised to realize he was still grinning when they returned to their table. There was something about Faith that immediately set him at ease—an instant sense of camaraderie. Like she might be the one person on the entire peninsula who got him. It was a strangely comforting thought.

  “So what do you want to know about me?” he asked after taking a sip of coffee.

  Faith wrinkled her eyebrows together. “Nothing.”

  “What?” That was the last thing he expected her to say.

  “I’m here for you, not the other way around. You can tell me as much or as little as you want, but I don’t need to know anything about you. I mean, I’m a curious human being, so I’m wondering about your story, sure, but I’m not a counsellor. Just someone who’s been through something that might be similar to what you’ve been through. Although probably totally different.” She laughed. “Everyone’s story is different. That’s something that I’ve learned, for sure.”

  “Okay.” He took a sip of coffee and shifted, trying to find a more comfortable angle to sit in the formed plastic chair.

 
“How about I tell you about me, and what I struggled with?”

  He nodded. “If you don’t mind?”

  She shook her head and took a deep breath. “My husband, Clark, died in a boating accident three years ago. It was a freak thing, and it took me a long time to really process the fact that he wasn’t going to come home. I find myself looking at the door, thinking I hear his car…still today. My son was just a toddler when his father died, so he doesn’t remember him, which makes me sad. And my life has changed a lot—I was going to be a stay-at-home mom. We wanted to have two kids back to back, and we’d just started trying for the second when Clark died. So everything that I thought my future would look like changed in that instant. I still replay the visit from the police, over and over again in my head.”

  Their stories weren’t the same, but some of the similarities shook Ryan to the core. “Yeah. I do that, too. The replaying.”

  She smiled softly. “Most of us do.”

  “Does your son have nightmares or act out?”

  “Not about his dad, no. But only having one parent…I think he worries more than the average four-year-old. Sometimes I think I’ve projected that onto him, that he’s more of an old soul than he otherwise would have been because he saw me crying for so long.”

  “So I’m not the only one worried that I’m scarring my kids for life?”

  “God, no.” She sighed, and boy did Ryan recognize the emotions heavy in that sound. “Tell me about your kids.”

  “Jack is the old soul. He keeps everything inside, trying to be the responsible one. He’s nine going on forty. Gavin’s seven, and Mr. Loud, always wanting attention now, which he never did before. I don’t know if that’s his mom’s death, or his age, or being the middle one. And Maya…she just turned four, and she doesn’t have the words to tell me just how much she misses her mom, but she does. They were inseparable. I worked a lot and…” He shook his head. “Gavin and Jack will hopefully always remember Lynn. I worry that Maya won’t, or that she’ll just have the fuzziest of recollections, and wonder if that will that be worse.”

  Faith nodded, and as she listened, Ryan kept talking. He told her about his in-laws and his friends, work and the kids. She chimed in from time to time with little suggestions and thoughts, but for the most part she just sat there and let him go. And then slowly the conversation turned, and he listened as she talked about therapy pros and cons for the kids, and ways to help them remember the parent that is gone.

  Before he knew it, his coffee was gone and Faith’s phone was beeping. She grimaced. “I’m sorry, I have a lunch-time phone call with my editor, that’s just a calendar reminder.”

  Ryan looked at his watch. They’d been talking for almost two hours. “I should get going, too.”

  “Was this helpful?” Faith asked. “Sometimes it is, sometimes it’s too much.”

  “No, I appreciate it. This was…good. Sort of.”

  “I’m heading to Owen Sound next week, if you want me to stop in Pine Harbour…you do owe me a cup of coffee, after all.”

  “Nicely played.” He took a deep breath as he stood and stretched. “Maybe. And if not, I’ll think about coming to the group session. But thank you, either way.”

  He thought about their conversation the whole drive home, and how easy it was to talk to Faith. Maybe because she was a stranger, and maybe because she’d shared first—he was so tired of feeling like the broken one in a circle of well people. Maybe he should go to the support group, after all.

  Over dinner, he brought up Lynn to the kids, something he’d realized after talking to Faith that he didn’t do enough. All he had to do was bring up a single memory and Jack and Gavin ran with it. They all got a little teary, but they laughed, too, and most importantly, they smiled.

  And when he tucked them into bed, they did it again.

  — SIX —

  RYAN was already in a pretty good mood when he got outside and found Holly strolling up the lane, carrying a thermos and two cups. The shy smile on her face as she stopped a few feet short of the deck filled him with a curious warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Hello there,” he said with a grin.

  She flashed him a brilliant smile and held up her offering. “I thought I’d take a chance and see if you wanted tea.”

  “Sure.”

  She sat down on the steps and he joined her, leaving a foot and a half of space between them for decency sake, but he wanted to be a lot closer. She wasn’t in running gear tonight—she wore dark jeans and an oatmeal coloured sweater. Her hair was braided and hung halfway down her back, and he had an overwhelming urge to tug the elastic band off the end of the braid and work his fingers through her silky strands.

  After watching him get settled, her eyes bright and curious the whole time, she pointed her finger at his chest. “You’re…happy.”

  He laughed. “I know, it’s an unusual state of being for me.”

  “That’s too bad.” But she looked at him like she knew just how precarious joy could be.

  “You too?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have anything to complain about. Not like you. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

  More than she probably knew, although maybe Pine Harbour gossip had drifted to the film set. Even if it had, the last thing he wanted to talk about was the sad reality of his life. “You look like you’re in a good mood, too. Better than yesterday.”

  “Yeah. Yesterday was drama-city. Today wasn’t so bad. And now we’re having tea,” she said with another smile, handing him a cup of…not tea.

  He took a tentative sniff. “What is this?”

  “Chamomile. Good for sleep.”

  “Interesting. In my world, tea is black. Maybe green if I’m eating sushi.”

  “Well, in my world, I need to be up every morning at five, so this is what I drink at night.” She winked at him and took a sip.

  “Five? Damn, that’s worse than the Army. Or kids.”

  “It’s all I’ve known for a long time. I do love sleeping in, but it rarely happens.”

  He took a sip of the flowery liquid. It was hot, that was something. “Tell me something fun about your job.”

  She pressed her lips together, the corners fighting to turn up.

  “What?”

  “You don’t need to make small talk.”

  “I’m being polite. Wait, no.” He laughed, then groaned. “I’m not great at this being social thing. I mean, I’m genuinely curious about what you do.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “You really want to know?”

  “I do.” He grinned. “What was the most entertaining thing that happened today?”

  She made a pained face. “Okay, you can’t tell anyone this.”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “The director and his wife, who is one of the lead actors, had a screaming match over lunch about how they don’t have any emotional intimacy in their marriage.”

  “You’re kidding me. In front of people?”

  “The entire cast and crew. She’s lovely, but he’s a piece of work.” She gave him a wary side-eye. “Do you want to hear more?”

  Ryan groaned. “No, not even a little bit.”

  “Tell me something fun about your kids.” She sipped her tea, then swiped her lower lip with her tongue, leaving her mouth wet and shiny.

  He stared at her mouth for a moment, then lazily drifted his gaze back to her bright eyes. He didn’t really want to talk about his kids all of a sudden. Somehow they were closer now than when he’d first sat down.

  She stared up at him, slowly blinking. Once. Twice.

  “Maybe you don’t want to talk about anything at all,” she finally whispered.

  “That’s probably true.” He cleared his throat, pushing away his thoughts about her mouth. “Maybe I need some more tea.”

  — —

  Holly’s cheeks flushed as Ryan turned and stared into the darkness. That had been a stupid thing for her to say. She must have read him wr
ong, thinking that he wanted to kiss her.

  “I’ve got lots of tea,” she said, desperate to pretend she hadn’t just hit on him—and been rejected. At least he hadn’t gotten up and run inside.

  She took his mostly-full cup and added a bit more from the thermos, then turned and settled her back against the newel post where the railing met the stairs. She wanted to show him that they could still keep talking and she wouldn’t launch herself at him.

  “So all those people down there—” He gestured toward the cottages. “Are they all too tired out from being crazy all day to hang out at night? I never hear wild parties. Isn’t there a movie star staying in that house with you?”

  All the air vanished from Holly’s lungs. That’s why you can’t kiss him. She stared at him, stricken. “Um…”

  “I know, you can’t say anything bad about them. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, it’s okay…” Her voice was weak and ragged. It wasn’t okay, at all. But she was lonely and he was lovely and she’d just wanted to escape for a little bit. “I should go.”

  “Stay.” He held out his hand, then put it down on the step between them. If she hadn’t moved over, it would have been on her knee. She felt the burning loss of that touch that she had no right to want, and wanted to cry.

  Instead, she told herself to stop being a baby.

  So she didn’t get everything she wanted in life. She still had more than most—even if she didn’t have anything that felt as valuable as what this man had, or what he had lost.

  “Help me out here,” he said quietly, his gaze pinned on hers. “I’m out of practice. What should two new friends talk about?”

  She had no idea. When was the last time she’d made a friend? Probably Liana, and that was years back. “I had cauliflower-crust pizza for dinner last night.”

  He laughed at her so-so face. “My kids love pizza—with regular crust, I mean.”

  “And you?”

  “I like steak.”

  “Let me guess—your kids do not?”