Tattered Innocence

by Ann Lee Miller

  Nothing for weeks, and now he cannon-balled back into her life. She grabbed hold of the mower feeling rocked off balance.

  Jake’s hands slid into his jean pockets, his eyes never leaving her. “Thanks.”

  Something sweet and soft curled in her belly and arced upward into her chest. She tugged her gaze away, and it fell on the stubble poking from her green-stained ankles. Great. How embarrassing.

  “The Queen goes back into the water tomorrow. Can you give me a hand? Meet me at the marina at nine to drive to the boatyard?”

  “Yeah.” She gave the mower cord a vicious yank. It belched gas fumes and ratcheted up to deafening. But she would quit January First. She’d sign up for twenty-one hours of college before she’d let herself fall any deeper for a guy who could only want her as a consolation prize.

  Rachel slid into Jake’s Explorer and smelled the Queen’s faint, musty canvas scent. She’d tossed most of the night and had been up for the past hour and a half. She had color coordinated her red Converses and Levis with a red sweatshirt and a red and black New Smyrna Beach High baseball cap—all for a trip to the boatyard to sail the Queen back to the marina.

  She glanced at Jake and collided with his full attention. Her breath sucked in and her back welded to the seat.

  “Morning.” He studied her. “You conscious?”

  He handed her a Starbucks cup. “Caffè Mocha.”

  She smiled her thanks and breathed in the steam coming from the cup. “What’s the plan?” She took a sip, wishing Jake wasn’t so fully there, dousing her in eye contact. Where had the Jake she knew gone—the distracted, hard-at-work, surly Jake?

  He stared at her until she squirmed. Five weeks of awkward, here I come.

  Jake cranked the engine. “We’ll drive to the boatyard, motor the Queen back to the marina, and take your car to the yard to pick up the Explorer.”

  “The motor’s fixed?”

  For the next twenty minutes, Jake filled her in on the repairs and Keenan until all the weirdness over their kiss at the hurricane hole evaporated as if it had never happened. He pulled through the chain link boatyard gate and parked.

  Rachel stared, wide-eyed, at the Queen’s propped-up underbody. “Wow. She turned out to be a whale of a biker-chick.”

  Jake laughed. “Biker-chick. You nailed her. I missed you when we hauled out—you’re the only person who appreciates the old girl like I do.” He chuckled. “Leaf wanted to light one up to celebrate when they didn’t drop her.”

  As they climbed out of the car, two men in coveralls walked past them, the tall, Erector set arms of the Travel Lift putting along behind them.

  The guy with a rock star swagger and a mustache that grew to his chin said, “We’re not dropping your boat. Chill.” He mumbled something Rachel couldn’t make out. “Wait over by the slip. We’ll lower her to the water safe as a baby.”

  She followed Jake to the boatyard’s cement pier. The Travel Lift cables squealed, and Rock Star and his sidekick cinched huge straps a third of the way from either end of the Queen.

  The straps creaked as the Travel Lift operator maneuvered the Queen off the blocks. The jack stands fell onto the asphalt.

  Rachel’s heart skipped a beat.

  Jake’s hand closed around hers, shooting sparks of sunshine up her arm. Her gaze shot to Jake.

  His teeth dug into his bottom lip. She felt the tension in his grip.

  The familiar, yet strangely mammoth Queen inched toward her habitat. Her keel sliced into the murky greenness first, then her broad, black hull sloshed water against the pier.

  Rachel and Jake stood, linked like paper dolls, till the slings slackened.

  The Queen floated.

  Jake’s breath whooshed out as though he’d been holding it. “Come on, let’s go.” He jogged, tugging Rachel by the hand out of her stupor. Jake leapt aboard and turned to help her span the four-foot gap between the cement wall of the slip and the boat.

  “Hold up.” Rock Star hauled the Queen closer to the pier with her mooring line and held a hand out as if Rachel were seventy-five and needed help boarding.

  “Thanks.” She clattered aboard. Jake’s orders rang in her ears before Rock Star’s sun-leathered fingers let go.

  The surrealism of Jake’s attention and the Queen’s out-of-water experience dissipated in a blur of fenders flipping into place, ropes lofting from pier to ship, and the motor burbling to life.

  The Queen glided into the waterway, majestic as her name.

  Two hours later, Her Royal Highness nestled into her slip beside Leaf’s Escape, shipshape topside and below deck.

  Rachel and Jake headed for the parking lot.

  Rachel scooted into the driver’s seat of her car.

  Jake plunked into the passenger seat and shut the door on the cool, clear day. “I’m glad we won’t have to haul the old girl again for another three years.”

  Rachel pulled out of the parking lot. Jake’s presence crowded into her personal space in the small car. A rubber band of tension vibrated in her chest.

  “I thought they’d drop her today. The belts weren’t positioned in the same place as when they hauled her,” the new, chatty Jake said. “Then, the spotter with the Fu-Man-Chu stared at you as if you were the one who’d crack up on the asphalt instead of the Queen.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Oblivious, just like I said.” Jake smirked, shaking his head. “When we got out of the car at the boatyard, didn’t you hear the guy ask why all the hot girls were off the market?”

  She braked at the stoplight on U.S. 1 and shot him a yeah-right look.

  He pinned her with his eyes, and the Escort shrunk to a Smart Car. “Rae, you look like a freakin’ model.”

  “That’s my mother.”

  “That’s you.” He stared her down, melting her like ice cream under a heat lamp.

  The light turned green and she screeched onto U.S. 1. She couldn’t deposit him at the boatyard fast enough. She didn’t know how to deal with this weird Jake. When she finally pulled in beside his car, she swallowed a sigh of relief. “Do you need anything else before I go home?”

  Jake leaned in till her breath stilled. Humor and heat hopscotched in his eyes. “An invite to Thanksgiving?”

  She cranked down the window hoping for oxygen. “Okay, sure. Four o’clock.”

  Jake climbed out, and her pulse dipped toward its normal cadence. In the distance, Rock Star drove the empty Travel Lift between the dry storage building and the pier.

  Jake poked his head into the car, an arm propped on the roof. “Rae.”

  She swiveled toward the command in his voice, and her eyes smacked into the intensity in his. Breath stuck in her throat.

  “I talked to Gabs, and I’m over her.” Challenge radiated from his mahogany gaze.

  Her heart thrummed, a basketball pounding down court.

  Possibility zinged between them close enough to grab.

  Before she could form words to respond, the Explorer door opened. Closed. The engine fired and rumbled across the boatyard cement and onto the street. Cool wind blew through her window.

  Maybe she could enjoy Jake’s rebound for five weeks—a gallon of Starbucks Caffè Mocha, all the happiness she deserved. Then, it would evaporate and she’d get the broken heart she’d dished Bret’s wife. Wasn’t that how life worked?

  Rachel’s hands shook as she jammed turquoise and aquamarine studs from last Christmas into her earlobes. Jake would meet her family in fifteen minutes and she stood in her bra and panties beside a mound of discarded clothes on her bed.

  She fished out her softest, pale blue jeans and an emerald sweater to match the earrings, then spritzed on something Avra had given her that smelled better than Ivory soap. The last time she’d been this dressed up she’d interviewed with Jake.

  Downstairs, her cousin-in-law, Cisco, lay nearly comatose on the living room floor next to Avra and a stack of math papers she was grading. Hall, his blond spikes tipped in orange th
is month, set a glass on the dining room table from the stack he carried. Daddy, MIA behind the newspaper in his recliner, peeked around an edge and winked at her.

  Just this once, could they not embarrass her? She glanced through the living room sheers to watch for Jake.

  He pulled up in front of the house, and she slipped out to meet him before anyone could tease her.

  He shut the Explorer door. The hand holding his keys stopped halfway into his jeans pocket. “Wow.” His gaze meandered her body from head to deck shoes and back to her eyes, taking so long he could have noted green socks, mascara, and earrings in two shades of blue.

  Her cheeks heated. She’d read that look of male appreciation on Bret, but Jake’s didn’t make her feel guilty.

  Jake shoved his keys the rest of the way into his pocket. “You never wear your hair down on the Queen.” He reached out and fingered a curl.

  Her scalp tingled.

  “You’re beautiful. And for the record, I thought so the night we dropped the boys off at sea camp, but I’d already spilled more than I wanted to.”

  She spun toward the house, a nervous laugh escaping. “You clean up pretty well yourself. Come meet my every living relative.”

  Jake caught her wrist.

  She squinted into the sun at him.

  “I’m interested in you, Rachel, more than friendship. I stayed away from you to think while the Queen was in dry dock. I don’t have everything figured out, but things don’t have to be awkward between us.”

  Warmth pooled under her ribs while she stared at him. Blinked. What could she say? Thanks so much? I’m glad you think so? She ducked through the screen door, breaking the contact. “Everybody, this is Jake.”

  Jake grinned. “Thanks for letting me invite myself to Thanksgiving. I didn’t want to eat peanut butter and jelly.”

  Hall stopped spinning a kitchen towel into a rattail in the dining room. “Hey, Jake.” He whipped the towel at their cousin Kurt’s lanky leg.

  Kurt jumped and armed himself with a fork.

  Rachel shot them the Look of Death.

  Daddy chuckled. He put the paper down and shook Jake’s hand.

  “My dad, Stuart,” Rachel said.

  Hall nailed Kurt with the towel.

  Kurt roared and dove around the table for Hall.

  Rachel pointed. “The one with the fork is Kurt.”

  Kurt darted a glance at them from his stand-off with Hall, the dining room table between them. “This is the first guy you’ve brought to a holiday.” He peered at Jake. “If he can stand you, marry him—quick.”

  Rachel fired a couch pillow at Kurt’s head. “You are so dead.”

  Kurt caught the pillow before it hit the table.

  “What’s with you guys? I told you Jake is my boss.”

  Avra introduced herself, then Cisco yawned and angled up on one elbow to shake Jake’s hand. “Here, I’ll tell you what Uncle Stuart asked me.” Cisco ticked off one finger at a time. “Are you tight with Jesus? Can you root for the Bucs? Do you love Avra?”

  Jake laughed. “I guess I like Avra okay for having met her two seconds ago.”

  In the middle of the laughter, Mama came out of the kitchen and hugged Jake as if he were her future son-in-law.

  Jake had to think she wanted to bag him as a husband. Rachel flopped into the Papasan chair. “Sign me up for Swapping Families on reality TV.” Outside, she heard car doors slamming. The rest of Avra’s family. She was in for the longest holiday of her life.

  Jake settled onto a living room chair to wait for Avra and Cisco to clear the table so he and Rachel could wash the Thanksgiving dishes. The rest of Rachel’s relatives sprawled in a tryptophan daze in front of It’s a Wonderful Life.

  Rachel sat on the floor close enough to touch. He leaned a knee against her shoulder. Maybe her obliviousness would hold and she wouldn’t notice. He didn’t mind an excuse to touch her, but he didn’t want to come on like a runaway Mack truck and freak her out again. They both wanted the same things out of life. He just had to play out his hand and not rush her.

  Avra slipped a plastic grocery bag over the turkey platter and disappeared into the kitchen. Mom used grocery bags instead of plastic wrap to save money, too. An Ebenezer Scrooge vision of his family enjoying their holiday bird at the kitchen table flashed through him, spearing him with unexpected homesickness.

  He’d been so focused on becoming part of Gabs’ world that he’d pushed his family out of his mind the whole time they dated, and now he did it from habit.

  His sister had texted Happy Thanksgiving. We’re eating at 6. Wish u were here. A veiled plea for him to call. He’d phone tonight, keep the Queen’s schedule open Christmas week, and go home. Maybe that would perk Mom up. She’d taken the broken engagement hard, and she’d still sounded down the last couple of times they’d spoken.

  Rachel’s father dozed in his chair. On the couch, her mother teased Hall about being twitterpated with his girlfriend. Kurt’s long legs spilled from the Papasan chair, his thumbs jabbing at his phone keypad. Avra’s parents and another brother debated the Christmas menu, something about chicken and yellow rice.

  Jake felt like he was at Aunt Zoni’s and Uncle Zeke’s with his cousins.

  Last year he’d eaten Thanksgiving dinner with Gabs’ family on linen tablecloths at the Grille at Riverside. He’d felt on edge, like he had to impress them—exactly how he’d felt at Gilford Prep. Why had he thought he’d belong once they married?

  He rubbed his palms against the worn upholstery of the chair arms. Listening to Jimmy Stewart’s dissatisfaction with his financial status stoked his own. He didn’t miss the corporate world, just the salary. The Queen looked a lot more lucrative on paper than in real life where repairs, weather, and the whims of tourism governed her income.

  Rachel shifted position, and her upper arm nudged his calf, setting off a chain reaction. His gaze dipped to the view down her sweater, and his body went full-alert.

  Yeah, he wanted her—and her friendship and business partnership—more than he’d ever wanted to belong to the club. He needed to chill. Coming off a broken engagement, he had marriage on the brain. Rachel needed to recover from Bret, too.

  She broke the contact.

  I am a total whack job—thinking honeymoon, and the girl isn’t even comfortable with bodily contact insulated by wool, denim, and a family of chaperones.

  Cisco shouldered the kitchen door open, a stack of plates in his hands. “Rachel, Jake, you’re on.”

  Rachel moaned.

  Jake held a hand out to her as he stood. “Come on. We haven’t washed a dish together in almost a month.”

  She deposited her long, smooth fingers in his and rolled her eyes. When she stood, her fingers released, but he hung on.

  “Enjoy.” Avra darted a look at their clasped hands and smirked as she and Cisco passed them in the dining room.

  The kitchen door swung closed, separating them from Rachel’s family.

  “I told my family my boss was coming to dinner.” Rachel yanked her hand free. “And this is not helping. I am so over their amusing themselves at my expense.” Dark brown eyes connected with his.

  “Hall probably tipped them off. He pegged me in two minutes the day you brought him by the Queen.” Jake ran water in the sink, squirted in detergent. “I was ticked. Thought Hall was some guy you were interested in until he said you were his sister.”

  She stared at him blankly, then a tiny smile started in her eyes and melted down to her lips. She took the sauce pan from his hands and rinsed it.

  They fell into companionable silence as they had a hundred times before.

  Rachel reached for a dry towel hanging on the stove door. “I’m sorry—the Jesus thing Cisco said.”

  “I’m not the heathen you think. Cisco sees me at the bonfire enough. Yeah, it was a little awkward. But at least your family’s expectations are on the table.”

  “Come on, you’re not serious. That fight after the hurricane was har
dly a proposal.”

  He sprayed the soap bubbles off the turkey roaster and grinned. “Guess you’ll know for sure if I ask again.”

  Her eyes widened and she ducked down to set a cookie sheet in the cupboard.

  He submerged a mixing bowl and swiped the sponge around it. He’d give a gallon of top-of-the-line marine paint to know what she was thinking. And he knew just how to find out.

  Chapter 21

  Rachel tensed as Jake turned from the kitchen sink and faced her, toe to toe.

  He took the damp kitchen towel and dried his hands, flooding her with that unnerving you’re-the-center-of-my-universe look.

  “This was just about the best Thanksgiving ever. Thanks for coming back to the hurricane hole, for reconsidering quitting.” His arms closed around her. “I’m grateful for you.”

  Her chin dug into his shoulder, and her arms slunk around him without asking permission from her brain. This was her Caffè Mocha. Words bottled up in her throat. Jake’s rib cage expanded and contracted between her splayed hands and her chest.

  The door from the dining room banged open, springing her chin from his shoulder.

  Hall breezed in. “Uh. Sorry. I was just getting the keys. Going to Jusinia’s. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “No problem,” Jake kissed her hair and released her. He reached a hand toward Hall. “Same to you.”

  They shook hands.

  “I better go first because I parked you in,” Jake said.

  “Yeah, thanks.” Hall grabbed his keys off the hook by the door.

  The backdoor shut after Jake went out.

  Before Hall could follow him, Rachel pinned her brother against the wall with a palm to his chest.

  “Whoa! What’s the matter with you?” Hall said.

  “What did you tell everybody about me and Jake? They’re treating him like a future in-law. I’ve never been so mortified in my life.”

  Hall smirked. “Yeah, you looked real mortified thirty seconds ago.”

  She dropped her hand. “I’m serious. We’re just friends.”

  “Yeah, but he’s been into you for a long time.”