by Miles, Cindy
Reagan clasped her hands together, those long fingers entwining with one another, and she nodded. Didn’t say anything for quite a while, just kept her head bowed, as though staring at the boat’s bottom, that space between her feet. Then, she lifted her head.
“I don’t know where to start,” she said softly. “Making things fit.” A sad smile touched her mouth, barely noticeable in the darkness. But Eric saw it. “All of my edges are jagged and—” she gave a light laugh “—out of place. Not wanting to fit at all, like I have only half of a puzzle.”
Reagan looked so lost. Eric felt like a voyeur, being able to see her features, her expressive lines and frowns and smiles, while she could only see him as a dark blur. He could only imagine how his life would be altered if he lost his sight. Unable to be a rescue swimmer? Unable to do basically everything he did?
“Well.” He thought about it. “I think first off, we need a proper reintroduction,” he suggested.
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t see me. Not really, anyway. I’m just a shadow, right?”
Reagan nodded.
He half turned toward her. “Face me.”
Her eyes narrowed even more, but she did it.
“Now.” He reached for her hands and lifted them to his cheeks. “See me.”
She cleared her throat, and Eric was slightly surprised when she didn’t pull her hands away. “You’ve watched one too many chick flicks involving blind girls, haven’t you?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “No such thing as too many chick flicks, Ms. Quinn.”
She cleared her throat once more, situated herself on the bench, and her hands began to search his features. “Scratchy,” she announced, letting her fingertips graze his jaw. Moving slowly upward, she felt his nose, his eye sockets, his brows. “Phew. There are two and not just one,” she said with a grin. Then she ran her fingers over his hair. “Nice military cut, but still thick. No baldness for you anytime soon.”
Eric watched Reagan’s face as she used her fingertips as eyes, noticing the way she captured her lip between her teeth as she studied him. It gave him a funny feeling inside, and not the ha-ha kind of funny.
The I-might-want-to-kiss-her kind of funny was more like it. And it took him off guard. He didn’t budge, though. This was his bright idea; he’d have to deal with it.
Her hands moved down his throat, her fingers brushing his Adam’s apple, then over his collarbone and to both shoulders. She gave them a squeeze and smiled. “Not the skinny little wiry boy I remember.” Her hands retreated back to her lap.
Eric cleared his throat, ran his hand over his head. “Now we’re even, see? I’ve seen you, and you’ve seen me.”
“I guess you still have those famous Malone green eyes?” she asked with a slight laugh.
“I do,” he confessed. “Big score with the ladies.”
“I bet.” Reagan grinned. “Does this conclude my lesson?”
“Almost,” Eric stated. “A couple of conditions remain.”
“And those are?”
“The next time I show up at your house and invite you somewhere, no arguments. No refusals. You have to go. Period,” he said.
Reagan gave a light laugh. “Okay. And?” she inquired.
“Start painting again.” Eric knew he was pushing it with that request, but he’d already kidnapped her. Might as well make a few demands.
Her jaw tightened. “That’s ridiculous, Eric.”
“Grab your oar,” he asked, and she did, and they began rowing back to the dock. “Why is it ridiculous?”
The night settled around them as the rowboat eased over the water, the oars making a slight whooshing sound as they sliced through the river. Along the marsh, yard lamps peered from the darkness, and although a small breeze stirred things around, the air was heavy and wet, and Eric’s T-shirt clung to his back.
“The obvious? I can’t see to paint,” she said, frustrated. “Kind of makes it difficult.”
“I don’t think so,” Eric argued. “I looked through all of your paintings. The subjects are all undefined shadows, Reagan. I think you could do it.”
“And how do I find new subjects? Sometimes everything is a blur, and I can’t judge anything at all.”
Eric shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see him do it. “Use scenes from your memories. No doubt you have plenty of them. Bottom line, Quinn,” he continued, “all that talent wadded up in that tiny little body is bound to come out somehow. Why not go with what you already know?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, you could always pick up beading, or welding yard art—although I wouldn’t recommend that one.”
A weak laugh escaped Reagan’s throat. “Yeah, probably not. How is it you know so much?” she asked.
“I know a little about a lot,” Eric confessed. “Courtesy of Jep Malone.”
“No doubt,” she said softly.
Reagan was silent the rest of the way back to the dock, and Eric could only assume—and hope—she was considering his plan. He had no doubt she could do it. None at all. She not only had to learn to trust others, trust him. But to trust herself.
For some reason he felt obligated to make sure she did just that. The only thing was, why? And, it kind of didn’t seem so much of an obligation anymore. He wanted to see her. Wanted to make her smile. Make her laugh.
Make her live.
He thought about her all the time. All. The. Time. The more he saw through her roughness, the more he got a glimpse through that wall she’d built around her heart, the more he wanted to break it down.
And he wanted her to let him do it.
* * *
BY THE TIME they docked the small rowboat, the moon hung in such a way that made the shadows merge, blur. Reagan really couldn’t make out much of anything at all. But Eric hopped out, then his strong fingers grasped hers and he hauled her up, tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and started walking her across the marsh. She’d briefly wondered how she’d manage without her walking stick, but she should’ve known Eric Malone would never have just sent her on her way. Beneath her fingers, his biceps felt hard, defined, and his skin warm. He smelled good, too, like some kind of zingy man soap.
Why was she noticing all of that?
See me.
Very prolific, those words from Eric Malone. Enough to make her sit up and take notice. Enough to want to explore his face with her fingertips and truly see his grown-up features, because the ones she’d had stuck in her head were foggy, old childhood memories of a skinny little hyper kid with knobby knees and wide green eyes and an even wider smile.
She reckoned the only thing that had truly changed was the knobby knees.
Reagan noticed the glow from her porch ahead in the darkness, and knew they were close to the house. Eric had allowed her quiet thoughts, and she was glad. Funny, how she kind of felt comfortable around him, whether talking or being silent.
“Um, sorry about your pizza,” Eric stated beside her. “It’s probably pretty cold by now.”
Reagan squeezed Eric’s arm lightly, then dropped her hand. “Great invention called a microwave will take care of that, no problem.” In the light of the porch she could vaguely make out his dark figure. “Thanks. For tonight.”
His hand encircled her forearm and he led her up the steps to her door. “Hey, I didn’t get punched in the face, so a plus for me,” he said, chuckling. “Jep swore you’d punch me in the eye.” He dropped his hand but didn’t move.
It was then Reagan noticed how the air seemed to snap around them. Come alive. Take on a life of its own. It almost...vibrated around her. She could actually feel it.
And it was at that exact time she felt the need to get away fast before she did something crazy.
Like kiss Eric Malone.
She hadn’t felt anything remotely similar since the accident. Well, to be honest, even before that. Before, it’d been playful, flirty, non-serious gestures that guys and girls make without even halfway thinking about them. But this felt different. She could feel it through her skin, all the way to her insides to where butterflies kicked up in her stomach. But she should definitely not give away that information. No way.
Instead, she gave a cocky grin. “Yeah, well, I almost did,” she said. “See you around, Malone.” She reached for the door, but Eric’s body moved and he stepped in front of her to open it. Reagan slid past him, their bodies close.
“Yeah, you will,” he said, and his husky voice washed over her, and her heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. “Night, Reagan Rose.”
She stood there as Eric bounded down the porch steps and headed for the lane, and he began to sing Foreigner’s “Feels Like the First Time.”
The air was still enough so that Eric’s voice carried, and she listened to his somewhat off-key version of the song until another voice reached her ears.
“Damn, boy, shut your piehole.” Jep’s gravelly voice carried across the lane. “You’re gonna make dogs start barking.”
And when one did, somewhere in the distance, Reagan could not stop the smile that spread across her face. Then a laugh came out, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
She knew right then that she was in deep, deep trouble.
CHAPTER NINE
REAGAN HEATED UP her mushroom-and-spinach pizza, and was sitting at the table eating when Emily and Matt came in.
“Hey, guys,” Reagan said.
Both Emily and Matt pulled a chair out and sat with her. Two shadows, one bigger than the other. She really missed seeing her sister’s happy eyes—which is what their mom had always called them.
“Brought you some wedding cake,” Em said, plunking something down in front of Reagan. “I love wedding cake. I’d crash a wedding just to have some.”
“You have crashed one just to have some,” Reagan reminded her.
“Oh, yeah.” Emily laughed. “How was your night? I hope you haven’t been bored out of your gourd.”
“No, not really,” Reagan confessed. “Eric sort of kidnapped me. Literally.”
“Well, tell me all about it!” Emily said excitedly.
Matt rose from the table. His dark form leaned over, and Reagan heard his soft kiss against Em’s cheek. “That’s my cue to leave girls to their girlie talk. Night, Reagan.”
“Good night,” she replied.
“Night, future husband,” Emily called.
Matt’s chuckle sounded from the door before he closed it behind him.
“Okay,” Emily said with excitement, and scooted her chair closer. “Can I have your crust?”
Reagan nodded, and Emily gathered one of the discarded crusts and bit off a piece. “Go.”
Reagan smiled. “It’s...not a huge deal, Em. Eric just kind of took me off the porch, carried me across the marsh and tossed me into his rowboat. Even forced a life vest on me.”
Emily squealed and clapped her hands. “Perfect! But...why?”
“Well,” Reagan continued. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, and it rested over her shoulder. “Apparently, he’s been making some unpleasant observances of my ho-hum behavior and thought to rattle me.”
“Did it work?”
Emily’s hands crept over Reagan’s and enveloped them.
“Yeah, kind of. He’s made me think, that’s for sure,” Reagan confessed. “He actually suggested I start painting again.”
Emily’s hands tightened around hers. “You absolutely should, Sissy! You love to do it, and your work is simply breathtaking.”
“Thanks,” Reagan replied. “I’m just not sure how it’d turn out, now that I can’t see. What if it’s awful?”
“I can’t imagine anything completed by you being awful, Rea,” Emily said. “Who knows? It might be even better. Won’t know ’til you try.”
Reagan sighed. “I was kind of thinking the same thing.”
“Yay!” Em dropped Reagan’s hands, jumped up and threw her arms around Reagan’s neck, giving her a heartfelt hug. She kissed her cheek, making a big smacking sound and causing Reagan to giggle, just like when they were kids. Em sat back down, and grasped her hands once more. “You know, I’ve seen Eric perk up since your arrival. I mean, he’s always been charming and funny, but there’s been a sadness in his eyes that seems to have faded since you came back to Cassabaw.”
That piqued Reagan’s curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t know all the details—those Malones can be tight-lipped about some things, and fiercely protective of one another. Eric was engaged before his transfer back to Cassabaw Station. His fiancée didn’t want to leave, and she broke it off with him, and I think that was about a year ago. Totally broke his heart.” Emily sighed. “Now that I’ve come to know the grown-up Eric, I can’t imagine a girl breaking things off with him. He’s quite a dish, not to mention all the other fine Malone qualities he possesses. He has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen. Matt said Eric would have done anything for that girl, but his transfer was fixed. Such a shame.”
That took Reagan off guard. Big-time. Didn’t see that one coming at all. “I thought Eric was some suave, smooth-talking ladies’ man.”
Emily’s soft laugh tinkled out, and she then released Reagan’s hands and sat back. “He’s just like Jep—loves the ladies.” She shook her head. “It’s all in good nature. He’s a kind soul. But his heart has a crack in it, and whoever has the power to heal that fracture, well, she’ll be something special all right.”
Reagan listened to her sister’s charming, vintage way of speaking, and considered her words. Guys were typically pretty silent about past relationships, and had Emily not mentioned the breakup, Reagan wouldn’t have guessed it. Eric was so upbeat. Charismatic. Funny, in a sarcastic and witty type of way. Quite appealing, actually.
He obviously kept his broken heart under wraps.
And she’d definitely keep it in mind. A guy with a broken heart could be a dangerous, dangerous creature. Maybe she’d imagined the sparks earlier that night with Eric, and if so, it was best left as is. One-sided. Reagan definitely didn’t want to become a rebound girl. No way.
Good thing she hadn’t reacted and kissed him.
But she did want to keep Eric’s friendship. They’d be family, practically. And she did enjoy his company, although she wasn’t ready to admit that to anyone, either. She’d just have to ignore any vibes that she might imagine.
“You know, I’m only going into the café in the morning for a few hours,” Emily started. “Wanna...join me? Meet the fellas? Have some eggs Benedict, perhaps, under the wind chimes with the South Carolina surf crashing just steps away—”
“Sure,” Reagan agreed. “I’d love to.”
“Really?” Emily started. “Yes! That’s phenomenal!” She leaped from her seat, gave her another big-sister hug and hurried off. “See you in the morning, Rea. Be ready by eight!” Her voice faded to the back of the house.
Reagan sat for a few more minutes, finding a fork and consuming the entire piece of wedding cake. All while her thoughts flew around the rowboat ride with Eric, and the words he’d said to her. Just two small words.
See me.
He’d never know just how much they’d struck her.
After a quick shower, Reagan braided her wet hair, made her way to her bedroom and crawled beneath the covers. After a few moments, she kicked them off, her arm draped over her forehead. Maybe she would give painting another try. Maybe just one picture. A small one. Just to see how it turned out.
As her eyes drifted shut, her mind still whirled with memories of the night’s events. Not huge events, but glitches
in time that were, for whatever reason, sticking to her brain. The way Eric smelled. The feel of his hands as they settled over hers and lifted to his cheeks. The funny things he’d said. The whole throwing-her-over-his-shoulder bit.
The way her heart had stopped for a split second when she’d slid past him in the doorway.
Flinging herself onto her side, Reagan knew she’d need to banish most of those thoughts from her mind. It’d do her no good in the end, and she knew it. Her focus needed to remain on getting up and on her feet. Somehow, managing some sort of extra income perhaps. And eventually—hopefully, soon—getting her own place. She didn’t want to be the third wheel with newlyweds, that was for damn sure, despite how much Emily and even Matt had insisted she stay.
Not if she could possibly help it.
Finally, with the sound of Eric’s raspy chuckle stuck in her ears, she drifted off to sleep.
By the time her alarm went off the next morning, Reagan had convinced herself that she’d allowed the moments with Eric the night before to make her think crazy thoughts. Make her believe things that actually weren’t there.
Like, say, attraction. The desire to kiss him. And the tingling that tickled her skin. No, she had been overwhelmed with the realization that she needed to get herself on track. And she had Eric to thank for that.
Nothing more.
Quickly brushing her teeth, then her hair, and pulling it into a fresh ponytail, Reagan’s fingers glided over her selections in the closet and chose a sleeveless sundress. She honestly had no idea what color it was, and figured it would certainly match a pair of white sandals. Shouldering her purse, she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway and nearly collided with her sister.
“Oh! You look adorable! Let me grab my bag and we’ll be on our way,” Emily said cheerfully.
Reagan stepped outside onto the veranda, and the heavy late-August morning seemed to cling to every inch of her skin. She’d been in scorching-hot weather, but there was nothing quite like a Southern coastal barrier island dog day to suck the air out of your lungs.
