Something to Prove

by Kimberly Lang

  Her voice floated out of the kitchen over the sound of ice clinking into glasses. “We couldn’t all be student body president, you know. And not to sound indignant, but you didn’t know them the way I did. They were my friends, and they were there for me.”

  “Tate turned out okay,” he reminded her as she came back in, carrying two glasses and offering him one. When she sat, he did the same, taking the chair catty-corner to where she was on the couch.

  “That he did,” she said with what sounded like pride. “And it looks like the Navy turned Paulie around.”

  “That was a good choice for him.”

  “Definitely. Looking at his Facebook page, I think he may even have a couple of kids.”

  He couldn’t tell if she sounded amused or baffled by the idea. “Did you send him a friend request?”

  She shook her head quickly. “No.”

  “No? Why not?”

  “He hasn’t ever come looking for me, so he might not want to be in touch again. I can respect that.”

  “It’s social media. It’s not like you’re asking to move into his house.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Obviously not.” When Helena didn’t say anything, he added, “Why don’t you explain it to me.”

  Helena thought for a second, then shrugged. “I don’t think I can.”

  “Why not? I’m smarter than I look.”

  She made a face at him. “It’s called being respectful of people’s boundaries.”

  “You’re saying I don’t understand boundaries?”

  “You live in Magnolia Beach, a place where no one understands boundaries.”

  He thought of his family. “You might have a point.”

  She blinked in surprise. “I must admit I wasn’t expecting you to see it, though.”

  “Having people in your business gets tiresome. I don’t think anyone would deny that. But that doesn’t mean it’s always a bad thing. It’s just a part of what makes us a community, and that’s generally good.”

  “Wow.” She laughed. “You definitely sounded like the mayor just then.”

  “Good. I’d hate to think I couldn’t do the job.”

  “Why do you want to?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?” Helena looked genuinely confused, but her question still didn’t make a lot of sense.

  “I mean, is this a stepping stone? Do you have political ambitions like the state legislature or Congress? Governor, maybe?”

  “God, no.”

  “So you just want to be mayor of Magnolia Beach.”

  “Yep.” The look on her face was quite amusing. “Remember—I like living here.”

  “I can understand that.”

  There was a hook at the end of that line. He could tell by her tone. “Oh, you can?”

  An eyebrow arched up. “I might like Magnolia Beach, too, if I were a Tanner.”

  The twitch of her lips told him she was teasing. “Oh, don’t start that. As mayor,” he said, putting on an official-sounding tone and straightening an imaginary tie, causing Helena to smile, “I can tell you that Magnolia Beach has a lot to offer.”

  “Such as . . .”

  “Good weather, lovely beaches, all kinds of water activities, friendly neighbors—”

  Helena held up a hand, stopping him. “That’s a matter of perspective. Friendly is just a nicer word for ‘nosy.’”

  “Well, it’s a safe community.”

  She shook her head. “That means boring.”

  “Charming?”

  “Stuck in the past.”

  “Caring?”

  “Smothering,” she countered.

  He racked his brain. “Moral, upstanding people.”

  “Judgmental. And possibly batshit crazy.”

  He laughed and held up his hands in defeat. “Okay, remind me not to hire you to head up our next tourism campaign.”

  She grinned. “Fair enough.”

  “And on that, I’ll go to work.”

  “Do you need help?” His surprise must have shown on his face because she went on to explain. “I know you’re working around other projects, and I thought maybe if I helped, you might be able to get home at a reasonable time tonight. But if I’d just be in the way . . .”

  He swallowed his surprise. “No. Help would be great. But don’t you need to do some work tonight?” Normally, if she wasn’t working on house-related projects, she was focused on her laptop.

  “Yeah. But I’m not really in the mood. Hammering stuff actually sounds pretty good.”

  He stood and picked up his tools. “You can hold stuff, but not hammer it. I don’t want to have to run you to the emergency room. No offense.”

  “None taken,” she said as she followed him into the sunroom. “That’s probably a wise decision. I’m not that experienced with tools.”

  In reality, he didn’t need the help, but he should be able to give Helena a couple of smaller jobs that would make her feel like she was contributing. She was a quick learner, though, and soon enough, he was able to actually have her genuinely assisting. After a little while, they got into a groove, and he ran out of instructions to give. He went back to real conversation. “So how was your visit with Ms. Louise today?”

  “Good. She’s developed this new drive to get better faster and has become a model patient, according to the nurses.”

  “That is good.”

  Helena sat back on her haunches and ran a hand over her face, leaving a smudge across her cheek. “I think it has more to do with getting back to this side of the bay as soon as possible than anything else.”

  “Cal Parker Senior?”

  Helena nodded. “That’s my bet. I’m not questioning it, though. She looks great, she’s getting stronger, and that’s all good. Now, if we can just get her house put back in order . . .”

  “I’m working as fast as I can.”

  “That was not a criticism,” she amended quickly.

  “Good.”

  “I mean, do I look crazy enough to criticize a man wielding a hammer? I may be foolish, but I’m certainly not a fool.”

  “You sounded just like your grandmother right then.” Helena looked at him funny. “And now you look like her. You two really are a lot alike.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I meant it as a compliment,” he explained.

  “Oh, and I’m taking it as one. My grannie is an awesome lady. She drives me crazy sometimes, and I wanna strangle her on occasion, but . . .”

  “That seems fair to me.”

  Helena’s eyes narrowed. “Touché.”

  “I meant that because the two of you are so alike, it’s understandable that you’d rub against each other sometimes.”

  Helena sat up, seemingly surprised at his words. “Oh.”

  He slid the last piece of new flooring into place. “And we’re done.”

  “That was fast.” She ran a hand over the new floor. “It looks great. I can’t even tell where the damaged part was.”

  He accepted the compliment with a nod. “And I appreciate the help.” He pushed to his feet and offered a hand to Helena. She grabbed it, and he hauled her to her feet.

  She brushed her hands together and then slapped at her pants. “Man, I’m covered in dust.”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  “No, I’m just embarrassed the floors are so dirty. If I’d known, I’d have mopped before you got in there.” She brushed at herself some more. “Jeez. Yuck.”

  “You’ve got a little on your face, too.”

  Helena rubbed a hand across her face, yet managed to completely miss the one spot on her cheekbone where that gray smudge ran up toward her hairline. “Better?”

  Without thinking, he reached out to wipe it. He froze the second his fingers tou
ched her skin, and Helena did, too, her eyes wide with shock. He had to decide quickly what he wanted to do. If he pulled away, it would only draw attention to the awkwardness of this moment, but while continuing on might make the action seem more casual, it might also get him slapped. He compromised by saying, “It’s right there,” as offhandedly as possible while still getting his hand off the woman as quickly as possible.

  Helena’s hand flew to her cheek and she rubbed it, removing the mark. Then she stood there for a moment, seemingly as uncomfortable as he was. Finally she cleared her throat. “Um, thanks. And . . . um . . . good job on the floor. I’m going to go in there now. And work. I’ve got a lot of work to do, so I’ll leave you to, um . . . work, too.”

  “Actually, I think I’ll make this my stopping point for tonight and get out of your hair.”

  “Okay, then.” As if she belatedly realized how close she still was to him, Helena took a big step back. “And I’ll see you . . . later.”

  That was weird. And awkward.

  Helena wasn’t on the couch when he came back through on his way out. Neither was her laptop, meaning she’d retreated upstairs. To avoid him, maybe?

  Probably.

  Things had been so easy tonight with Helena, just talking and working, that he’d forgotten himself for a moment. At the same time, Helena hadn’t ripped him a new one, so either she’d forgotten herself as well, or else . . .

  Or else what?

  He wasn’t going to deny that he was attracted to Helena. A man would have to be blind or dead—possibly both—not to be, and he was neither. But he hadn’t finished thinking through what he might actually do about it, much less entertained the thought of Helena being open to any advance he might make.

  And while he couldn’t be completely sure, those few moments might be deconstructed to mean she might be.

  Things had just gotten interesting.

  * * *

  Sitting on the jetty drinking beer with Tate in the moonlight was a date with déjà vu—only now she didn’t have to worry about being busted for being underage, and Tate wasn’t drinking.

  She’d been slow on the uptake, only realizing tonight when she noticed the nonalcoholic beers in the bag along with the usual ones that she hadn’t seen Tate touch a drop of alcohol since she’d arrived. Tate had shrugged it off with, “I quit a while ago.” She didn’t ask for an explanation and he didn’t offer one, but if she’d borne the brunt of Mr. Harris’s alcoholic rages, she might not be much of a drinker, either.

  The concrete jetty wasn’t that comfortable, and her butt was going numb, but it was a small irritation in an overall great night. There was a nice breeze coming off the water, and it felt good after being inside all day. The nights were getting cooler as they moved into the fall, but still not cold enough to put on the light cotton sweater she’d brought along.

  It was peaceful and beautiful, and the view hadn’t changed much over the years. She sighed. Another one of those Magnolia Beach time warps. But this one wasn’t so bad.

  Improvements on the Heron Bay shore had been done in the late sixties, adding the boardwalk and the jetties and widening the beach, but it couldn’t compete with the sugar sands on the Mobile Bay side—at least for the tourists. The Shore was a locals’ spot, and every inch of it held memories for Helena. And, oddly, she was feeling okay about that. It felt comfortable, right even, to be here.

  Tate groaned and stretched. “Man, this was easier when we were younger. Sitting like this is killing my back.”

  “You sound like an old man.”

  “You lift a couple of Great Danes and see what it does to your lower back.”

  “Should have used your knees,” she scolded.

  “Oh yes, thanks. I’ll remember that for next time.”

  A group of teenagers had a small campfire burning a couple of hundred feet away, and the high-pitched laughter of the girls carried over the sound of the water to their place on the jetty. It was a small crowd, but, then again, it was a school night. Not that there was much else to do on a Monday night in Magnolia Beach. The kids were just dark shapes moving around the fire, coupling and uncoupling, with the occasional couple wandering off toward the shadowy privacy under the boardwalk.

  Tate pointed to the couple as they disappeared into the shadows. “Young love.”

  “More like young hormones. Something about the sea air must get them revved up.”

  “Hey, don’t knock that. I lost my virginity under that boardwalk.”

  “So did most of Magnolia Beach.” She thought for a minute. “I feel like we should warn them that’s a bad idea. They’re going to get sand in places sand really doesn’t belong.”

  “Nah. That’s a lesson you have to learn on your own.” Tate leaned back on his elbows and looked at her. “I just realized that we’re now the creepy old people sitting on the jetty watching us party.”

  That made her laugh. “I know. I think as long as we don’t go over and try to join them, though, we’re okay.”

  “Still, I remember being on the beach and watching the old people hanging out and wondering what they were doing.”

  “Quit calling us ‘old.’ It’s depressing,” she grumbled.

  “How could you possibly be depressed on such a beautiful night?”

  “And with such charming company,” she added with a grin.

  Tate tapped his can against hers in a toast. “Indeed.”

  “I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

  “Anything, sweetcheeks.”

  “Could you spare a couple of hours this weekend to come over and help me move some furniture and stuff around?”

  “Did you not just hear me complain about my bad back?” he said teasingly.

  “It’s not heavy stuff, you wimp. And I’ll even spring for pizza.”

  “In that case, then, of course I’ll come help. This is the Saturday I’ve got a half day at the clinic, but I could come by after.”

  “That would be great. You’re the best.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “And thanks.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “Yes, you have. You’ve hung out with me, taken me to dinner, and don’t forget about that poetry reading. . . .”

  Tate groaned. “If I could redo that night, I’d skip the poetry reading. That was pretty bad.”

  “Yeah, but I appreciate the outing anyway. Being back here would have been really rough without you.”

  “I’m just sorry I’ve been so busy and we haven’t had more time together.”

  “You’ve got a life. I’m just happy you can squeeze me in when you can. And it’s looking like I’ll be here a couple more weeks, anyway. So we’ve got time.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. While I hope Ms. Louise’s recovery is quick and complete, I’m not in any real hurry for you to leave.”

  “Aw, thank you.” She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder. Tate’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her snug up against his side. It was comfortable and familiar, and she sighed happily. She loved her grandmother dearly, but Grannie wasn’t an overly demonstrative person. And while Helena had never doubted Grannie’s love for her, she’d craved simple, nonsexual human contact, which Tate had always been willing to provide. She felt calm, serene even, for the first time in ages. Bliss.

  The wind kicked up again, lifting her sweater off the ground and sending it toward the water. Tate jumped up to catch it, jostling her out of her Zen moment and nearly falling off the edge of the jetty in the process. She laughed, which got her a peeved look from Tate as he returned with her sweater. “That was graceful,” she said.

  With the wind behind her now, her hair was blowing into her face, and speaking gave her a mouthful of it. It was Tate’s turn to laugh as she tried to gather the strands together into a makeshift ponytail, trying to twist it into something she could con
trol. “I should have brought a barrette.”

  “Nah, windblown’s a good look for you.” A lock escaped her fingers and wrapped back around her face. Tate’s finger brushed gently across her forehead as he corralled it and pushed it back behind her ear. Then his palm was on her cheek, his thumb stroking gently. “But, then, I can’t imagine what isn’t a good look for you.”

  The intimate touch, the half smile, the low pitch to his voice . . . It was unexpected but unmistakable, and she froze in shock.

  Tate seemed to translate that as permission, and a second later, his lips were gently pressing against hers. They were soft and warm, the kiss hesitant at first. Then it gained confidence as his fingers threaded through her hair to pull her closer.

  It was the touch of his tongue that snapped her out of her shock. Her hands flew up to press against his chest to keep him at a distance. “Tate!”

  He pulled back, question and surprise written on his face, but his fingers continued to gently rub her scalp.

  Helena’s heart fell to her stomach, which contracted around it painfully. There was no way this wasn’t about to hurt him. “You—I mean, we . . . I . . . can’t.”

  His brow furrowed. “What?”

  What were the right words? She pulled back a bit more. “This. I don’t . . . I just don’t feel—”

  Tate’s hand fell away as understanding dawned, and he stepped back. “Oh.”

  Her eyes started to burn, and she hated herself for causing that look on his face. “Tate, please . . .”

  He shrugged. “No biggie, sweetcheeks.” He smiled as he said it, but the smile was forced and the words were flat.

  She reached for his hand. “I wish I—”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But I do. I’m so sorry if I’ve misled you, given you the impression. . . .” Tate was shaking his head, and Helena hated herself more. “I’ve taken advantage of you. Of our friendship. I just needed someone to lean on, and I forgot that we’re not kids anymore. . . .” She was making a muck of it—probably making it worse. “You are so important to me. I didn’t really realize how much I missed you until I got you back, and I don’t want to lose you again or mess this up. I’m flattered, honored, but—”