She was happy and proud of herself for a job well done, but there was also a heavy feeling in her stomach, a discontent that really seemed out of place.
This was home. She was settled, with friends and a business, and she loved it here. But the truth was, she was still in limbo, unable to really move on. And while days, weeks even, would go by without her thinking of Mark or her family, the knowledge that she wasn’t finished with that part of her life was always in the back of her mind, keeping her from feeling truly settled here.
And the last few weeks had really driven that home for her.
She wanted to blame Helena, or even Tate, for awakening that discontent, but she knew it would have happened eventually. At first, she’d kept busy just trying to survive—trying to adjust to life in a new place on her own for the first time and building her business. She hadn’t had time for anything or anyone.
And she’d still been healing.
But then everything had clicked into place, and the last eight or nine months should have seen the triumphant rising of the New Molly from the ashes of the old. She was a fully integrated member of this community—she was liked and had been trusted with a big responsibility without anyone worrying she wouldn’t succeed.
Except that she wasn’t really a fully integrated member of society because she wasn’t really that Molly yet. She couldn’t be.
But she wanted to be.
The fact she wasn’t made her want to bang her head against something hard.
She settled for taking a big gulp of her beer.
The music from the concert provided ambiance to her pity party, and she leaned back on her hands to stare at the sky. Normally she liked being alone, but tonight she felt lonely. Closing her eyes, she turned her face to the breeze to help clear her head.
She heard footsteps behind her, and didn’t think anything of it until they slowed and stopped. She opened her eyes and wasn’t really all that surprised to see Tate. And while it only complicated things more to admit it, she was happy to see him. “Hey.”
“I wanted to see how it went today,” he explained. “I went by your tent, but you were already gone. Susan Jones told me she saw you headed down this way, and when I saw a lone shadow down here I thought I’d see if it was you.” He squatted next to her, his face creased in concern. “You don’t look very celebratory, though. From what I heard, it all went great.”
“Oh, it did,” she assured him, deliberately forcing her eyes up, away from the calf and thigh muscles on display from that squat. That just had her staring into his eyes, though, which wasn’t much better. She swallowed hard and decided watching the water was a much safer idea. “I survived farm animals, small children, and clowns. And it looks like we beat last year’s total by a couple hundred dollars, too. It’s definitely celebration-worthy.” She shrugged to explain her lack of enthusiasm. “I’m just too worn out to actually do it.”
“At least it’s only a one-day event.”
“Thank goodness for that. I don’t know if I could do another day.”
Tate sat and dangled his legs off the boardwalk, mirroring her posture as he leaned back on his hands as well. “Are you not a fan of our local talent?”
“The concert?” He nodded. “They’re great, but I have to be up early to open the shop.”
“You don’t normally open on Sundays.”
“No, but I’d be crazy to stay closed when there’s that much going on in the streets outside my door. I’m only going to be open until the parade starts, though, and I’ll close on Monday instead since most folks will be at cookouts or at the Beach anyway.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“I try.”
They sat quietly for a moment. Then Tate sighed. “I’m wondering if I owe you an apology.”
“For what?” she answered automatically, then instantly regretted it.
He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t hesitate, either. “Kissing you the other night.”
Boy, he was blunt. She had to respect that, even if she wished he wouldn’t be. She didn’t want to talk about that right now. Or ever, really. “You don’t owe me an apology.”
“It seems like you’ve been avoiding me since then—”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I know. But I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about it. Around me.”
“You’re a good man, Tate. And I know that usually when people say it’s them and not you they mean the exact opposite, but it is me. I’m not really there yet.” She sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“Obviously.”
Tate didn’t leave, but he didn’t say anything else, either, even though it was obvious he was curious and hopeful she’d elaborate. The silence stretched out until Molly couldn’t handle it any longer. “I finally got to meet Ellie today.”
“She told me. And she said to tell you that the boys really enjoyed the fair.”
She nodded her thanks. “You and your sisters are really close, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, we are.”
She could hear the genuine affection for his sisters in his voice. And even when Sam grumbled about him, there was love in her voice, too. Part of her knew that it shouldn’t be a big deal, that siblings were supposed to get along and act like a family, but it made her feel even more like an oddity in the world. Her family was great on paper, but crap in real life. “That’s nice. You’re the oldest, right?”
He nodded. “There’s four years between me and Ellie, and almost seven between me and Sam.”
Since Sam had just turned twenty-four a few weeks ago, that meant Tate was thirty-one, and she was the same age as Ellie—who was happily married with two adorable children. And based on the approximate ages of those children, Ellie had gotten married at about the same age she had, albeit with better results. “Usually with an age difference like that, it’s hard for siblings to be close.”
“Well, we had a pretty messed-up childhood, so it tends to draw you together. For sanity’s sake, if nothing else.”
His matter-of-factness just floored her. “You’re pretty open about it.”
“There’s really no use trying to whitewash it or pretend it didn’t happen. Everyone knows, even if they don’t talk about it. It’s no secret. My father drank, and when he drank, he beat on us.”
She winced. “Was it hard? Knowing that everyone knew, I mean?”
He thought that over for a minute. “Maybe,” he finally said. “I was a teenager before I realized that wasn’t how all families were, and by then it was just the way things were and unlikely to change.”
“But if everyone knew, why didn’t someone do something about it?”
“The state came out a couple of times, but there was never enough evidence for them to do anything. My mother still insists he was just ‘strict,’ and since corporal punishment isn’t illegal, it can be difficult for folks to decide where the line between discipline and abuse is.”
“So no one believed you?” She knew how bad it was as an adult not to be believed. But for a child? Jesus.
“Sometimes it’s really hard to know what goes on behind closed doors. And my father held down a job, kept his family fed and clothed, went to church every Sunday . . .”
She knew that picture of “nice, normal family” all too well. But hearing Tate talk kind of made her problems seem overrated. Mark had hit her, but it was nothing like what the Harrises had had to deal with.
“Honestly, it’s probably harder now,” he said. “Everyone knowing, I mean.”
That got her attention. “How?”
“I can tell folks wonder if I’m going to be like him. If I had a couple of drinks at the bar on a Friday night, folks questioned my sobriety. If I got mad, they worried I had his temper. I couldn’t even fight with a girlfriend without folks checking her for bruises the next day. It made me start to worry about it. How much of it could be genetic, you know?”
“DNA is not destiny. It’s all about the choices you make.”
> “I know.”
There was something almost grim in his voice—regret, maybe, or even disappointment, but since he hadn’t pushed for an elaboration earlier, she would return the kindness. “Then why stay here if people were treating you like that? Why not go somewhere else and just start over?”
Tate gave her a knowing look.
Damn it. I might as well just tell him my whole frickin’ life story.
He shrugged. “My sisters, mostly. I want to stay close to them. And I decided not to let my past define me. Everybody’s got a sob story. We may have had a messed-up childhood, but Ellie, Sam, and I are doing okay overall. And that’s what matters.”
She couldn’t help but notice he hadn’t included his mother in his list of reasons. That was very telling. “You are doing quite well. All of you. You should be proud.”
“Success is the best revenge and all that.”
“True.” For the most part, she was happy and successful, and that had to bug the crap out of Mark—if he even knew. “But sometimes it’s hard to remember that.” She looked down at her hands, realizing a second too late how very telling that statement was, too. Damn. Just stop talking already. But Tate was just too easy to talk to.
“Hey,” Tate said softly. Molly looked up and knew he’d understood everything she hadn’t said. “Whatever it is, I’m here to tell you that you’re doing okay, too. You should be proud of yourself. Trust me on that much.”
“Thanks.” That meant a lot. More than it probably should and more than she wanted to admit.
“You’re welcome.” Tate smiled and patted her gently on the back. It was a completely normal and friendly gesture, totally appropriate under the circumstances, meant to offer comfort and support, both of which Molly discovered she desperately needed. Without thinking, she leaned sideways against him, and his arm extended around her into a half hug, cuddling her sideways across his chest.
Tate was warm and he smelled good, and even knowing that she shouldn’t, that this was tantamount to leading him on, Molly couldn’t quite bring herself to pull out of the embrace. She could feel the solid wall of his chest and the even thump of his heartbeat against her back. Their thighs ran side by side to the edge of the boardwalk, and she could feel the tickle of the hairs on his calves against hers as their feet swung gently off the edge of the boardwalk out of sight.
This was nice, but . . .
With a sigh, she tried to pull away and sit up, but she had to brace her hand on his thigh to do so. The muscle tightened under her palm, and she lifted her head to find Tate’s face just inches from hers.
She couldn’t help herself, making the move before she even thought about it. Tate met her halfway, his mouth slanting over hers. There was no hesitation this time, and her hand wrapped around his neck, threading through his hair and holding him in place.
Tate responded immediately, his arms closing around her, pulling her into his lap as his tongue slid in to stroke against hers like a hot, wicked promise.
This was a kiss. Completely different from the careful, almost hesitant one last week.
It was hungry and honest, bordering on carnal, and a real shock coming from sweet, kind, understanding Tate Harris. All that tingly desire bubbling in her blood the past couple of weeks paled in comparison to the pure, unexpected want that slammed into her with a force that scared her a little.
Mercy.
Her blood roared in her ears and pulsed hot against her skin, making her acutely aware of each stroke of his hands—down her back, across her waist, up to her neck, then down to her hips to pull her snugly against him. Tate wanted her. She could feel it, taste it, and it was both intoxicating and empowering.
She broke the kiss, gulping for air, and Tate’s lips moved to her jaw and her neck, sending shivers over her skin before he found her mouth again, kissing her hard and deep before slowly gentling, finally resting his forehead against hers as they both fought for breath.
“Damn,” she whispered appreciatively, and she heard him chuckle slightly in response. Then sanity started to return. Damn. She carefully loosened her grip on his shoulders. She couldn’t slide back without falling off the boardwalk, so she settled for using her knees to raise herself a few crucial inches off his lap and away from the evidence that he’d enjoyed that kiss as much as she had. She felt Tate sigh as he put his hands on her waist to help her off his lap and back onto the boardwalk beside him.
I can’t believe I just did that. Her face felt like flames were licking it, but her whole body was thrumming. She was massively aroused and totally ashamed of herself. “Tate, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that—”
“It’s okay.” He ran a hand through his hair and gave his head a little shake as if to clear it. “You’re not there yet. I know.” He pushed to his feet and extended a hand to pull her to hers. She couldn’t meet his eyes and stood there staring at her feet until Tate put a finger under her chin to lift her face. “But do me a favor, all right?”
Anything. “What?” Her voice sounded as shaky as her legs.
He leaned close. “When you do get there, let me know.” With a small smile that tripped her heart, he turned and left.
Chapter 11
The Sunday events were usually Tate’s favorites of the weekend—the dog talent show was always good for a laugh—but today he was a little scattered, unable to focus properly on anything. At least a thousand times already—regardless of how inappropriate or inopportune the moment might be—his mind kept wandering back to Molly and that kiss.
And since summer had arrived in full force today, “hot and bothered” had taken on an entirely new meaning. He was sweaty and sticky from the heat and humidity and grumpy after a restless night caused by the aftereffects of that kiss. It felt as if the hormones of a sixteen-year-old were in control of all his higher brain functions. Just the sight of a Latte Dah to-go cup was enough to crank his engine.
As the day progressed, though, sightings of those to-go cups became few and far between. Molly had said she’d close Latte Dah when the parade started, but he hadn’t seen her at any of the other activities afterward. Had she just gone home? She had to be tired after a long day yesterday and an early start today. Or maybe she was avoiding him.
Stephen Leary was trying to make the family’s poodle dance a cha-cha without great success, but that just made Tate think about how he’d teased Molly about her curls and how they’d felt tangled between his fingers. That led his thoughts to last night and how perfectly she’d fit in his lap, against his chest, how soft her skin was, and how she’d curved into his hands in all the right places. And her mouth, dear God, her mouth . . .
But Molly wasn’t “there” yet. That was fair enough. There was definitely something bad in her past, something she wasn’t quite finished dealing with yet. He understood that and tried to keep that in the forefront of his mind.
He was definitely there, though, pitching his tent and flying the flag, which made this a little frustrating, to say the least, but he could give her some time. She was obviously getting there. Hell, she’d kissed him like she was starving; he’d actually felt the hunger.
He’d just have to be patient. Give her a little time and some space. She was still very guarded and needed to come to trust him a little first.
The sound of applause brought him back to the dog show rather forcefully, and he joined in politely, even though he had no idea how the cha-cha had turned out.
But that was the last act, and after the ribbons were awarded, the day’s events were pretty much done. He was completely done, though, and there was nothing else he had to do for the rest of the weekend.
He was loading up his stuff when Quinn came by. Sophie was hanging on to his arm, her nose pink from the sun and a goofy grin on her face. They were obviously deliriously happy together, and it added a poignant pang to the lust already simmering under his skin. “You want to grab something to eat before the concert?” Quinn asked.
Tate shook his head and picked at
the damp fabric of his shirt. “I want a shower. I probably smell worse than the horses after the parade. I’ll catch up with y’all later, though.”
“We’ll save you a seat at the concert,” Sophie said, waving good-bye as she pulled Quinn toward the food area.
It was a short walk home, and once he was out of the business district the streets were mostly empty, save the occasional family with young children calling it a day and heading home. As he passed the corner of Molly’s street, he snuck a peek toward her house. Her car was out front, but that didn’t actually mean anything other than that she hadn’t left town this afternoon. It certainly didn’t mean she was home, and just because he hadn’t seen her today, it didn’t mean she wasn’t downtown, but that she just wasn’t near him.
Cool air hit him the moment he opened his door, and he dropped the stuff he was carrying to embrace it. Thank you, inventors of air-conditioning. It only took a moment for his shirt to turn clammy against his skin, so he stripped it off as he headed to the fridge for a bottle of water. There wasn’t much in the fridge in the way of food, but he was too hot to be hungry anyway. He’d grab something from one of the vendors later on his way to the concert.
First stop, though, was a shower.
This was exactly what his plans for the weekend had always been, but that was before he’d kissed Molly, and now he was a little dissatisfied with the plan. Part of him wanted to call her, see if she wanted to join him and Sophie and Quinn at the concert, but that was pretty much the opposite of giving her space. Needless to say, it also reeked of neediness on his part.
But after that kiss, neediness had taken on a new meaning.
Sighing, he reached over and cranked the water all the way over to cold. It didn’t really help.
When he was clean, dry, and dressed—if still a little chilled—he thought he heard his doorbell, which was more than strange. Who would be looking for him here?
He entertained several possibilities on his way down the stairs, but Molly was still the last person he’d expected to find on his porch.
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