Love Everlasting

by Tracey Alvarez

  Could one of those hot dates be a plus-one to his aunt’s wedding? Darby bared her teeth at the wonky line of stitches. It wasn’t her concern. But damned if the idea of Reid kissing other women like he’d kissed her didn’t pinch like a freaking too-small glass slipper.

  Clearly, Reid was certifiable. Without a doubt ready-for-an-XXL-straightjacket insane. That was the only sane explanation for why he was hovering outside Paws & More veterinary clinic two days later. Someone, and he forgot who, claimed that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting the result to be different. He’d replayed kissing Darby over and over, and each time it got better.

  Hotter.

  In each replay he hadn’t resisted the warm, sweet taste of her and the feel of her curvy body crushed against his. In each replay they’d stumbled from his workshop and into his bed.

  None of those replays had ended with the just-friends spiel. Which was where the insanity came in. He knew they were a bad idea, and obviously Darby did, too.

  Yet, against his better judgment, there he was.

  Reid grimaced and pushed open the door, stepping into the foyer which smelled like pine disinfectant with a side of damp canine—likely coming from the shaggy black dog with its equally shaggy owner seated on a row of chairs. He crossed to the front desk where a tiny lady fiercely tapped away on a keyboard, her face almost pressed against the computer screen. She wrinkled her nose and sat back on her stool.

  “Forgot my glasses this morning,” she said without taking her gaze off the screen. “Can’t see a damn thing.” Then she tilted her head up at him. “Great Dane?”

  Reid blinked at her. “Pardon?”

  The woman chuckled and shook her head. “Sorry. Just keeping myself amused by trying to guess what kind of animal matches with what kind of owner.” She scanned him from head to toe, rising up on the rung of her stool to do so. “Big fella like you wouldn’t be seen dead with a cavapoo, I’m guessing.”

  “Probably not,” he said, not entirely sure what a cavapoo was and why one would be embarrassed to own it. But back on track before the little receptionist had pair-bonded him to one of the dogs barking behind the closed doors leading off the reception. “I’m, ah, wondering if I can have a quick word with Darby, if she’s around?”

  A knowing smile swept across the woman’s face. “Oh, she’s on her lunch break. Just follow the path down the left side of the building around the back to the boarding enclosures. You’ll find her knee-deep in cats.”

  “That sounds like Darby.”

  “Friend of hers, are you?”

  That gave him a moment’s pause, but he didn’t let his pleasant expression slip. “Yeah.”

  The woman nodded. “She’s a lovely girl. Has a soft heart for creatures that are hurting. Makes her damn good at her job.” She appeared to contemplate her statement for a few beats. “Also makes that soft heart of hers vulnerable to some hard knocks,” she said in a quieter voice.

  “That also sounds like Darby.” His skin suddenly felt tight and raw, as if he’d held the steam iron in his workshop a little too close. “I’d better go find her before her break’s over.”

  He walked out of the reception and strode down the side of the building, following the signs to a fenced-in enclosure. He spotted Darby through the wire. She was wearing electric-blue scrubs and sitting on a bench with her head tipped back and her eyes closed. Weak rays of sunlight streamed through the overhead canopy of climbing ivy that provided shade and dappled her face. A big black cat bunted his head against her arm, while a fluffy orange one twined around her ankles. She looked so at peace with the world, Reid took a step away from the gate he’d been about to knock on.

  Then her eyes fluttered open, gaze unerringly finding his through the glossy green leaves trailing down the enclosure’s sides.

  “Reid?” She jerked to her feet.

  Both cats fled, claws skittering on the concrete.

  He raised a hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you.” He made a half-assed dithering attempt to wave her back down to her previously relaxed pose, but she was already hurrying over to let him in.

  “You’re not disturbing me.” She closed a gate separating the main enclosure from a narrow storage area and unlocked the second gate. “Come on in.”

  He followed her to the bench where she’d been enjoying the sunshine and sat beside her a polite distance away. “Nice spot,” he said, for something to say. “Natives look friendly.”

  The ginger cat was making a beeline back to them, its tail a fluffy mast.

  “They get lonely,” Darby said. “So I try to come every day to keep them company while I eat.” She dipped her chin at the ginger cat now sniffing his leg. “That’s Oscar.”

  He reached down and scratched behind Oscar’s ears. “You keep them company, or do they keep you company?”

  “Both.” She slid a sideways glance his way. “I’d like to say the cats don’t judge me if I want a break from human interaction or if I’m having a bad hair day, but cats are the most judgmental animals on earth. They just keep their smug opinions to themselves.”

  “Unlike dogs, so I’ve heard.”

  “Yeah. Dogs see humans through permanent rose-tinted glasses.”

  A flash of black from the corner of his eye revealed the black cat had also returned, stalking them from the narrow shelf above the bench. “Tell me who’s on your jury today?”

  In her element, the wariness of Darby’s initial expression disappeared as she named the seven cats currently accommodated in the boarding enclosure. Her colorful description of each animal’s personality and quirks made him chuckle, and the sweet animation on her face as she dangled a feathery toy and made a chubby tortoiseshell leap in the air was adorable. He found himself telling her about his childhood pets—two cats and his mum’s budgies that’d always creeped him out a little. In exchange, she recounted her childhood filled with a dense but loving golden retriever, numerous guinea pigs and rabbits, and a variety of attitude-ridden cats.

  During a natural conversational pause she leaned back against the wall behind them and smiled. Reid found himself smiling back, the tension that’d been knotting his back muscles piano-wire tight easing into buttery softness. He couldn’t remember the last time such easy conversation had flowed between him and a woman he was insanely attracted to.

  Insane—there was the word again.

  He cleared his throat and sat up, accidentally dislodging a feline about to step onto his lap. The animal gave him the stink eye and leaped off the bench. Nerves fluttered in his belly, taking him back to a time when, as a skinny, gawky teenager, he’d been too shy to ask a girl out. “You free on Saturday?”

  Her gaze slid to Oscar, who’d taken the place of the tortoiseshell chasing the feather toy. “Uh-huh. Said I was, remember?”

  The stomach flutters accelerated and, God help him, he could feel his man-of-the-world confidence deflating with the whiny squeal of a released balloon. “MacKenna’s got some leftover satin from some bridesmaids’ gowns she finished a few weeks ago she’s donating for your costume. I’m taking the ferry over on Saturday morning to have lunch with her, then catching the evening one back. Do you want to come along?”

  “Oh.” The toy in Darby’s hand stopped twitching, and Oscar pounced.

  There were at least a dozen hesitant questions hidden in that one tiny word.

  He eased back on the bench, crossed his legs at the ankle, and studied the enclosure’s ivy-covered roof. “You mentioned once you hadn’t been to Stewart Island, so I thought I’d ask.” As a friend, he was tempted to add to save face. But he forced his jaw to remain closed for a beat of two breaths then added, “You can’t call yourself a true Southerner if you’ve never been.”

  Male pride kept him from any further argument to convince her to agree. Kept him from admitting out loud that he wanted to spend more time with her.

  “Way to make a girl feel guilty,” she said. “Sure. I’ll come. So
unds like fun.” She flicked the toy in his direction, the brightly colored feathers flying toward his crotch.

  Oscar swatted his thigh, narrowly missing Reid’s junk. Reid shifted abruptly along the bench seat, out of toy range.

  “Oops. Sorry,” she said, nothing but sweet innocence in her tone.

  But the way her mouth curved as her gaze skimmed hungrily up and down his lower body suggested anything but innocence. And platonic friendship.

  Huh. How ’bout that.

  “I’d better get going.” He stood, brushing cat hair from his pant legs. “Pick you up at seven Saturday morning?”

  “I’ll be ready.” She snatched the nearest feline off the bench beside her, burying her nose in the animal’s fur. “Shut the gates on the way out, please.”

  Reid muscled back a smile and turned away.

  Maybe he wasn’t the only one thinking about the adventures to be had on the high seas of Foveaux Strait.

  Chapter 9

  The thing—quite an important thing—that Darby neglected to tell Reid before they boarded the morning ferry was that she was prone to seasickness. Fortunately, the unpredictable stretch of water between Bluff on the mainland and Halfmoon Bay harbor on Stewart Island was almost glassy today.

  After her past bouts of chemo nausea, vomiting was her least favorite activity. And vomiting in front of Reid, who looked catwalk-model hot in worn blue jeans, was unthinkable.

  “You good?” he asked as they stood at the ferry railing with Oban’s wharf growing closer.

  She’d spent the trip distracting herself from (a) a stomach that could decide at any moment to revolt, and (b) grabbing Reid’s face in her hands and kissing him until the heat they generated boiled the chilly waters surrounding the boat.

  “I’m great—ooh, look, isn’t that an albatross?” She pointed in a vague upward direction and tried not to wince at how schoolmarmish she sounded. That’s right—she’d been reduced to a running commentary of bird and marine life during the hour-long trip. It was a choice of babbling about flora and fauna or bluntly asking Reid if he’d thought about their shared kiss earlier that week.

  Enough with the kissing thoughts already. A purser swaggered past them on the deck, ready to do his thing when the ferry docked.

  It wasn’t like Reid had made any further moves on her, or even looked at her in a hey, baby way. She was unsure why he’d asked her to come today, or why she’d agreed, other than the man had the kind of charisma that made you want to be near him. Even if it were only in a platonic way.

  They disembarked, wandering onto Oban’s wharf and passing by a café doing a brisk business while customers waited for the next boarding. Puffy clouds scudded across the sky, and it was probably her imagination but it looked bluer and clearer than the sky over Invercargill.

  She inhaled a breezy mixture of brine, good coffee, and the earthy smell of thousands of trees and native greenery sweating under spring sunshine. She’d seen photos of Oban’s waterfront with its little boutique shops, the stunning Harley Komeke mural painted on the side of a building, and Due South, the old-style hotel and pub. Those images weren’t an accurate representation of the little town’s vibrancy, the welcoming, friendly vibe of the place.

  There were more people than she’d expected—clusters of them chatting outside the grocery store and a little gift shop/art gallery. Kids chased each other along the seaweed-tossed sand of Halfmoon Bay beach, a steady stream of customers went in and out of Due South—and a few people stopped and said hello to Reid.

  “You’re a popular guy,” she said after they’d spoken to Ford and Harley Komeke, who were sitting together outside the mural-emblazoned workshop, drinking take-out coffee. A tiny bit of silent squeeing on her part took place when Reid introduced her to Harley and his baby son, Tāne.

  Reid glanced down at her as they continued to stroll toward Due South. “I’ve gotten to know a few of the locals since Mac moved here.”

  “They like you,” she observed. “And not just because you’re MacKenna’s friend.”

  “I’m a likable guy,” he said. “You should try it.”

  “What?” She laughed, her stomach dipping in a hot swoop. “Liking you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her mouth tingled with the reminder of how much she liked him, so she pressed her lips together for a couple of steps. “I’ll take that under advisement,” she said finally.

  He gave her a lopsided grin that sent her heart leapfrogging into her throat. “You want a no-expense-spared guided tour before it’s time to meet Mac for lunch?”

  Darby let out a silent whooshing breath. “Love to.”

  While wandering around Oban for the better part of an hour, Darby found herself slyly scanning her reflection in a little shop’s window display. Other than her mussed hair from the sea breeze picking up outside, and the heightened flush on her cheeks that she blamed on the combination of sun and exertion, MacKenna would only see a cheerful companion of her best friend walking into the restaurant. Not a woman who kinda, sorta did like Reid more than in a companionable way.

  Reid politely opened Due South’s door and gestured for her to go ahead of him. Inside the cosy marine-themed restaurant, MacKenna sat at a table for four next to a brown-haired man with blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled in welcome at them. He must have been MacKenna’s doctor husband, Darby deduced by the arm draped around the tiny blonde’s shoulder. He stood as they neared the table and offered his hand to Reid.

  “What’s the craic, mate? You’re not still pissed about me whipping your arse last night?”

  “Luck of the Irish.” Reid shook the man’s hand with a fierce grin.

  MacKenna must’ve noticed Darby’s confused expression as she leaned forward and stage-whispered, “Joe and Reid have been proving the size of their manhoods—I mean brains—by playing online chess.”

  Darby laughed and Reid rolled his eyes. He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, his fingers brushing her back as he eased her chair in, which gave her another little tingly attack.

  “Don’t listen to a word of it.” Joe sat down again, his arm once more wrapping around his wife’s shoulders. “I’ve generations of Celtic warrior blood in my veins, and Reid here, well. There’s probably a lowly soldier or two somewhere in his spotty ancestry.” He extended his hand across the table to her. “I’m Joe Whelan, by the way, and you must be Darby?”

  “That’s me,” she said.

  Pleasantries and teasing were exchanged back and forth across the table while drinks arrived and after they’d placed their orders for lunch.

  “So, Darby,” Joe said during a lull in the conversation. “You’re the one who’s been taking up most of Reid’s chess-playing time?”

  As if iron drawn to a magnet, Darby’s gaze slid sideways to Reid. He wore an I don’t like where this is going expression on his face.

  She forced her lips into a polite smile. “It’s more that his kind agreement to make the costumes for the play is taking up his spare time.” Another sideways glance to where she found Reid’s gaze zeroed in on hers. “My theater group’s very grateful for MacKenna and Reid’s help,” she added weakly, staring at a point between Joe and MacKenna.

  “Sunflower House needs to keep operating,” Joe said. “I’m familiar with the good work they do from my time in Invercargill. Had a few patients of mine that couldn’t say enough good things about the service they provide to the community.”

  “Places like Sunflower House need all the help they can get,” MacKenna said.

  “And even people who live only an hour’s drive away appreciate being able to stay close to the hospital for a couple of nights during their treatment, like my friend Sandra.”

  Joe cocked his head. “Oh, I didn’t realize you had such a personal connection with the place.”

  Though the gap between her and Reid was a more than respectable distance apart, Darby sensed a sudden stiffness arrow through his body. She didn’t need to turn to him to know his gaze
was on her again and her spine grew steely in response.

  “Actually, I have a more personal connection with breast cancer,” she said, directing her comment solely to Joe and avoiding eye contact with either MacKenna or Reid. “Four years ago I was diagnosed with stage one, grade three triple positive breast cancer.”

  Joe’s doctor persona immediately came out to play with this new information, and for a couple of breathless minutes she didn’t have to think about MacKenna or Reid’s reactions while he peppered her with medical questions.

  Reid kept his own counsel during Joe’s questioning, sipping his glass of chilled water in silence. Across the table, Darby caught a glimpse of MacKenna watching their conversation like a woman engrossed in a tennis match—as if that woman had placed a steep bet on the game’s outcome and the player she’d bet on was blowing her chances of a win.

  “You’ve had breast cancer?” MacKenna said when her husband paused long enough to take a breath.

  “Have,” Joe corrected amicably.

  Darby still couldn’t look at Reid. “Joe’s right. I’ve got a little ways to go before I can say I’m cancer free.”

  MacKenna uttered a four-letter word under her breath then drained half her white wine. “You never said anything when we had lunch in Invers, so I apologize if I said something stupidly insensitive.”

  “It’s okay,” Darby said. “My medical history is not the first impression I like to present when meeting new people. I either end up feeling like an old person who constantly talks about their bowel motions or it gets awkward with some people assuming I could keel over dead in the next two minutes.”

  “I guess that would suck.” MacKenna’s nose crinkled. “But aren’t you awfully young to have gotten breast cancer? How did you find out?”

  “A lump.” She could do this if she pretended she was only talking to Mac and Joe about this stuff. “My boyfriend found it in my left breast while we were spooning. I was lucky he was concerned enough to mention it, because at twenty-four I thought it unnecessary for a woman my age to bother with breast checks.”